Brother Knows Best
by Urchin of the Riding Stars
Summary: Arthur won't settle for being anything less than number one in his little brother Alfred's heart. But Ivan Braginski, Alfred's best friend since childhood, is bound and determined to confess his affections to Alfred. In a fit of jealous fury, Arthur decides to get rid of Ivan by any means necessary. AU, Possessive!Arthur, Rusame.
1. Meeting You

Brother Knows Best

Arthur won't settle for being anything less than number one in his little brother Alfred's heart. But Ivan Braginski, Alfred's best friend since childhood, is bound and determined to confess his affections to Alfred. In a fit of jealous fury, Arthur decides to get rid of Ivan by any means necessary. AU, Possessive!Arthur, Rusame.

~*oOo*~

Hey guys. Really hoping you enjoy this one; please review! Constructive criticism is my chocolate. ;) The first chapter might seem a little slow, but the intro is kinda important for character development.

~*oOo*~

**Chapter One**: Meeting You

Arthur Kirkland had not been one of those large-eyed little babies in the charity ads that made your heart melt and your wallet open. He had not been one of those infant you spotted in a stroller and bent over to coo at. He had not been a cheery, giggly baby who liked to play. Old ladies had not insisted on pinching his cheeks and blessing his little heart—they were more likely to start at his unfriendly scowl and to comment on how his eyebrows looked like caterpillars above his piercing green eyes.

The newborn had not been much of a crier, thank heavens, for his parents were new, and his father got migraines very easily. But instead of enjoying hugs and kisses, he seemed only to only tolerate them, the way a lazy cat will tolerate particularly bothersome flies that it already knows cannot be swiped down. When his mother spoke to him in baby-talk, the baby often sent her disgruntled looks, as if to say '_You must be joking_.' While he had a fondness for plush animals he could cuddle up with, his dignity would not permit him to do so unless he was fairly certain no one was looking.

He heartily disliked childish toys that would buzz or beep or light up, but enjoyed letter blocks, which he would spend a great deal of time arranging and re-arranging.

"Artie's our smart little gentleman," his mother would joke whenever they had company over. "I wouldn't be surprised to see him sitting by the fire reading Shakespeare next year."

Arthur had no patience for television, but loved to hear his parents read aloud. He spent hours poring over his parents' books whenever he could sneak them, and taught himself to write his name at age two (So proud of his ability was he that he spent a good amount of time writing his name over everything he could reach with a crayon, which unfortunately included the walls). When they went on road-trips, he insisted that they listen to audio books, and his thirst seemed all the more insatiable the more stories they finished. _Alice in Wonderland_ was such a favorite of his that he listened to it nearly every day, and arranged several tea parties with his stuffed animals.

He loved books on etiquette and manners, and impressed adults with his pompous and occasionally flamboyant manners by calling the mail lady "Your ladyship" and the milkman "Your lordship." He loved to host pretend balls in which he was the esteemed host everyone answered to, and with his mother's help, tried to bake food for his imaginary friends. (It was very fortunate that they were imaginary, because any real creature would have expired immediately after eating one of Arthur's dreadful biscuits.)

When Arthur was three, his parents began leaving him at a local preschool during the week so that Mrs. Jones could return to work. He was a little young, but Arthur didn't seem to mind being on his own. He was a fairly well-behaved youth, but the teachers worried that he wasn't very sociable. He preferred reading picture books instead of painting with the other children, and instead of running around with his classmates, he preferred to pretend to garden.

But one day, Arthur got news that sent his little world spinning, and not in a good way. Yhe sulking boy had no choice but to confide in his fellow students on the playground, who commiserated with him.

"My little sister's just startin' ta get teeth," complained a little girl on the playground. "She chews on _everything_, including my dolly's hair."

"Babies smell," added a boy, making a hideous face. "My Daddy spends, like, a bajillion hours changin' my little brother. He can't play as much as he used to."

"They yell all the time!" piped up another child, who was making a sandcastle. "When I try to watch TV, my sister starts screaming and then my ears hurt."

Arthur's stomach churned, and now he felt even worse than it had the previous evening, when his beaming parents had come into his room with the news while he'd been having a gentleman's duel with Mr. Sparklebun. Other children eagerly chimed in.

"They take Daddy and Daddy's time away!"

"Mommy and Papa ALWAYS take their side."

"They NEVER stop following you!"

"They barf everywhere! Ewwww!"

"They drool all over your stuff!"

"They break your toys!"

"They always cry!"

"They smell really bad! Like, really, really bad!"

No, Arthur did not want that baby.

His mind recoiled at the idea of having a whining, pining, messy and _disorderly_ creature in the house. He was known to have fits when he was younger when his parents didn't serve applesauce in the red bowl and macaroni and cheese in the blue bowl. If so much as a crumb of food fell on his lap during meals, he'd refuse to eat until he got it off. His father could be heard bragging about Arthur's tidiness in comparison to most toddlers.

And there was nothing he could do about a fat, drooling, helpless slug coming into the house. A slug that would scream at night and prevent him from re-inacting stories with his stuffed animals. Or listening to his favorite tapes. Or from having any fun at all.

He begged his parents to change their minds. He promised to be the best little boy if they decided to keep only Arthur. He promised he would learn how to cook and make all the meals from that point on (They'd been awfully quick to shoot down that suggestion, for some reason), and he promised to stop getting into fights with Francis, the neighbor kid next door. Well, so long as Francis stopped starting fights.

But it was useless; his parents gently told him nothing could be done, and so Arthur's scowl deepened even as his mother's womb grew during the weeks.

~*oOo*~

Just when Arthur thought things could get no worse, he learned they very well _could_.

His parents had gone in for some stupid picture from the doctor, only to learn that Arthur was not in fact getting a little sibling.

He was getting _two. _Two screaming, bratty little siblings that would scream and barf and poop and break things.

Arthur decided that, the moment they were born, he would go out into the woods and wait for some fairies to hopefully kidnap him and raise him as their own.

~*oOo*~

The day finally came in July. Far too soon for Arthur's liking. As if being left at _Francis_' house weren't bad enough. He'd begged his parents to leave him with anyone, _anyone_ else, but they'd apologized and said that they couldn't find another sitter besides Francis' daddy. He would have settled for a hungry tiger at the zoo. The angry little boy spent the day sulking, kicking dust, and sending half-hearted insults towards Francis, heart heavy with dread.

A few hours later, Mr. Bonnefoy had cheerfully announced the "good" news: Mrs. Jones had given birth to two healthy little boys. Arthur exchanged a few curt replies with his exhausted parents, most of which consisted of grunts.

The next morning, Arthur was taken to his parents' room in the hospital. His kept his eyes—simmering with resentment—on the floor as the babies gurgled in their bassinets. His father kept talking to him gently, trying to excite him.

"C'mon, buddy, cheer up," he said gently, raising up Arthur's chin. "You know, just because we've got Matthew and Alfred doesn't mean your mom and I are gonna love you any less."

Arthur's eyes prickled, and his vision became blurry. His father sighed, and kissed him on the cheek, scooping Arthur up before pointing at the nursery's viewing window.

"If anything, it means we love you even more now, kiddo. We're counting on you, buddy. Someone's gotta look out for your brothers. And it can't be just anyone. It has to be someone we can trust. Someone intelligent. Someone brave. Someone _responsible_."

Now Arthur found himself looking up into Mr. Jones' eyes. The man smiled kindly.

"I can't think of a better brother for these boys to have," he said gently, squeezing the child's shoulder. "I—hey! Look! It's Alfred!"

Arthur reluctantly turned his eyes to look. A little baby with wispy blond hair and a cowlick was sleepily considering his brother and father with eyes the color of a midsummer sky. His twin brother slept on beside him.

Arthur frowned at the baby, but it was getting harder to. The baby wasn't screaming, but looked rather thoughtful and pensive, eyes distant. Mr. Jones chuckled.

"Look, see? He's looking at you. He knows you're his brother. His knight in shining armor."

"Rubbish," replied Arthur, though curious in spite of himself. How could he know who Arthur was?

Later on, when they returned to the room, Alfred and Matthew were given back to the Jones, wearing clean pajamas (Matthew was dressed in polar bear pajamas, while Alfred was dressed in moon and stars jammies), fuzzy caps, and tiny hospital bracelets. They looked very much alike, although the one called Matthew preferred to stay hunched up in a little ball, sucking on his thumb. Alfred's eyes were bright now, and the infant seemed to enjoy wriggling around, keen to test out his limbs' capabilities. Arthur watched them both, an impassive look on his face.

"Would you like to hold them?" asked Mrs. Jones gently, moving aside on the bed and patting it invitingly. "One at a time?"

Arthur didn't think this was such a good idea, but his father hoisted him up, and before he knew it, Mrs. Jones was handing over Matthew. Swallowing past the knot in his throat, Arthur fumbled with the bundle of blankets and tried to hold him correctly, but Matthew's eyes flew open and the baby started to scream. Scream the way Arthur had dreaded he would, with blue eyes panicked and dismayed. Mr. Jones hastily snatched up Matthew, who was sobbing inconsolably, and quickly took him out of the room so that Alfred's whimpers didn't escalate into the same.

Mrs. Jones sighed, scooped up Alfred, and tried to hand him to Arthur; Arthur was trying to scoot off the bed as fast as he could.

"If he cries, fine. Just_ try_, okay, dear?"

Ready to have a temper tantrum, Arthur sullenly took Alfred into his arms, bracing himself for the shriek. To his surprise, Alfred didn't start bawling. He continued to whimper, but the sounds were dying down, and he seemed to be resuming his happy twitching. Arthur's eyes narrowed as the baby considered him again, looking curiously.

A smile flashed across Alfred's face, and he let out a strange noise. Arthur started. Mrs. Jones smiled.

"He's cooing. That means that he's happy."

Swallowing, Arthur experimentally tugged the baby closer, unconsciously cradling him against the warmth of his shoulder. Alfred hummed slightly as Arthur sniffed him. Well, he at least he didn't smell like…like _that_. More like a milky, baby powdery like smell. Not Arthur's idea for a perfume, but not unpleasant.

The baby didn't seem to mind that Arthur was holding him so awkwardly. Alfred smiled goofily, and his eyes flicked all around the room, as if he didn't know what to look at first. He seemed excited, cheerful, and hopeful at once, as if the world were some brand new treat for him to explore and enjoy. Entranced, Arthur tentatively pressed a fingertip against the soft, soft face, and saw Alfred tip his head in his direction, eyes on Arthur.

After a few minutes however, he seemed to get sleepy, judging from the way his blue eyes were flickering. Arthur hummed tunelessly, unconsciously rocking back and forth until Alfred's eyes fluttered shut. Then he stayed still. Perfectly still.

He didn't notice that Mrs. Jones had been taping the entire display next to him with her phone, eyes bright and teary. "You _are_ a sweet thing, aren't you honey?" she asked, dabbing at the corner of her blue-gray eyes. "I think you and Alfred are going to get along just fine."

Arthur's throat was too tight to speak, so he just nodded. Mrs. Jones smiled at him, and leaned over, reaching out for her baby. "I'll tuck this little guy in now for right now—"

As quickly as if he'd been bitten, Arthur protectively snatched the baby out of reach, wincing as Alfred started whimpering again. But before he could stop himself, he had shouted:

"_No!_ **Mine**!"


	2. The World Ends With You

**Hey, everyone! Was delighted by the initial response to this story...I really, really hope you continue to enjoy it! Next chapter things heat up and move much more quickly, though it might shift POVs. Don't worry, we'll see some more chibi Alfred and Ivan in a bit, but all of this stuff is important. (Including fluff).**

~*oOo*~

* * *

**Chapter Two**: The World Ends With You

His drawings shifted from doodles of castles and queens and fairies and enchanted creatures to Arthur carrying Alfred, playing with Alfred, reading with Alfred. Matthew was occasionally scribbled into Arthur's doodles, but mostly they were just dominated by Alfred.

"You've got a real brother complex, don't you dear?" asked his teacher teasingly when Arthur reiterated the story where he'd successfully changed Matthew's diaper for the third time. "I hope you don't change your tune when they get older. My little sisters drove me up the wall growing up."

The little boy had just harrumphed and went back to his drawing, offended at the very notion. There wasn't a more diligent or loving older sibling than Arthur. He knew it himself, would have known it without the dozens of people telling him.

Arthur went from a child who had spent nights dreading the moment he was to be accosted by two drooling, diaper-clad bullies to a protective and fussy older brother who often tip-toed into the sleeping twins' room to check on them. He insisted on holding his brothers as often as possible—particularly Alfred—and he pushed the stroller as best as he could when the family went on walks, though he was hardly tall enough to see over it on tiptoe.

When one or both of the babies cried at night, Arthur was typically the first one up, much to his parents' annoyance and his teacher's chagrin (Arthur began falling asleep in class shortly after his brothers were born). There wasn't much he believed he could not do for his brothers, and he got irritated at his parents very quickly for not letting him do more. They moved sluggishly, didn't get the job done quickly enough. Arthur liked his days to run on schedule, whereas his parents were content to wait minutes before going to comfort his crying brothers!

"Artie, just give him a moment," said his mother gently as Arthur anxiously bent over a crying Alfred in his crib. "He's just being a little fussy. Al will be asleep in a sec."

Arthur shot his mother an affronted look and proceeded to pull the baby out of his crib, rubbing his back soothingly. His parents were kind, but couldn't be trusted to do _anything _right. It was a good thing that they had Arthur, because they very clearly needed him.

The idea of schoolyard bullies approaching his brothers on the playground made his blood boil and his teeth clench with rage, even as he watched the little ones roll about on a blanket. Let someone try. He had made a wand out of an old stick he'd found and kept it hidden underneath his pillow, ready to jinx the jelly out of any prowler that came into the house. He _tried_ asking his father where he kept the guns, but his father refused to dignify that with a response, so Arthur chanted spells underneath his breath every night, mostly borrowing them from _Harry Potter_.

He was forever dragging out a napkin to wipe at the twins' messy faces, and often spat on the corner of one if he thought they needed tidying, which was often in Alfred's case. To his mother's puzzlement, she sometimes walked into the babies' room to find Arthur picking out their clothes for the day. Mr. Jones called Arthur his "trusty fetching friend" because the child was the first to run for a thermometer or a bottle when the children began to so much as tear up.

Now people on the street, in the supermarket, in the department store—were stopping to bend over the cute little boys in their stroller. Alfred was a giggly, social baby who liked to laugh at everything, whereas Matthew was more likely to shrink inside his blankets, peek up at you, and smile timidly. Both traits seemed equally endearing, and little crowds would appear when the Jones went out in public, much to Arthur's horror. The little boy would insistently pull at his parents' hands whenever he felt someone had ogled his brothers for too long.

"Artie, there's no need to be jealous," his father had told his eldest son sternly as the Jones walked out of a grocery store one day.

Artie had only raised a thick eyebrow. "I'm not jealous."

"Then why did you have to be so short with that nice saleswoman?"

"I'm not short!"

"That wasn't what I—oh, for Pete's sake, Arthur, the point is that you don't have to feel jealous because your brothers just happen to be cute! You had lines of people wanting to cuddle ya when you were small," he lied, approaching their car and carefully strapping in Matthew's car seat.

Arthur pouted as he tried to strap in Alfred—he felt he did a better job—only to have his frowning father scoop Alfred's carrier away from him. "You're much too little to be carrying that and Alfred too."

He was not! Arthur unhappily got into the car, crossing his arms and scowling darkly. The little boy preened inwardly when people praised his brothers on looking so healthy, but it just got annoying when they bit into the twins' precious schedule; _his_ precious schedule! It was far too intrusive for strangers to strike up conversations while cooing at his brothers when that was _Arthur_'s job to adore them, to adore Alfred. Why didn't his father understand that? So what if he often made pointed comments about the nosy weirdoes having contagious germs? They probably _did_!

Once, when a neighbor couldn't seem to stop squealing over the sleeping infants, Arthur had angrily threw the blankets over the twins, blocking them from sight.

"I swear, I don't know where he gets it from," apologized his mother, uncovering the babies and casting her eldest son a stern look. "It's like he thinks that they're HIS babies."

Weren't they? Arthur had been shaken to think otherwise.

~*oOo*~

When the twins were a few months old, they started teething. The next few weeks for the Jones had been nightmarish, what with the nearly non-stop crying. Matthew wept piteously and often; Alfred was a little easier to calm down, but he had a loud wail that was almost impossible to shut off until he'd exhausted himself. It wasn't uncommon for Arthur to leave the house in the morning with both babies screaming and to return to yet more tears.

One day, Arthur came home to find his mother crying with them. Matthew was sobbing into her neck, while Alfred wailed in his crib.

"I don't know what to do," Mrs. Jones had sobbed. "If I could just get one to be quiet a moment—"

Arthur had said nothing, but had awkwardly scooped up Alfred (He was getting heavier), and half-carried him, half dragged him to his room. Mrs. Jones was too tired and too frazzled to care, still dealing with Matthew's crying. She knew from experience that Matthew would cry more if no one was holding him.

A moment later, one of Arthur's audio books began playing, and Mrs. Jones buried her face in her hand as Matthew continued to cry. It was a few minutes before she realized that Alfred's sobs had died away.

It took maybe fifteen minutes, but at last Matthew quieted down, calmer without the cries of his brother egging him on. Arms shaking with fatigue, Mrs. Jones tucked the dozing baby in a nearby playpen and went to check on her other boys.

When she opened Arthur's door, she discovered that Arthur had snuggled up with the baby (Arthur _never _snuggled up with anything but his plush animals), who was sucking on Arthur's finger like he would a pacifier. Arthur was animatedly chatting to him.

"-that's kind of gross, but it's alright, my teacher says that it helps the pressure in your gums. It must hurt, having teeth grow in. But you'll need them if you want to eat my food one day. When you get all your teeth, I'll feed you a berry scone."

Arthur hummed and kissed Alfred on the forehead, who was still happily sucking on Arthur's pinkie. The older brother chuckled like an indulging father and teasingly asked: "Does that taste good? You're strange, Alfred. I hope you're paying attention to the story. Isn't it neat that people can read stories to you and they don't even have to be in the same room with you? But I'll read books to you in the room tonight, if you're good and don't cry too much."

He paused, then leaned in to whisper into Alfred's ear: "I'll probably read stories to you even if you DO cry, but don't tell anyone."

Alfred hiccupped, burped, and smiled. Arthur's eyes were glittering like two emeralds.

"Say 'excuse me,' Alfred. Can you say that? Mmm?" He patted Alfred's hair adoringly and cuddled him.

Mrs. Jones doubted she had ever seen her son so entranced, so glowing with contentment. Alfred smiled absently, little hands on Arthur's wrist as he gummed the finger, relieving the pain in his swollen gums.

"That's right, you're a good boy, aren't you? Aren't you? You should say 'Yes, Arthur.' Let's practice. Y-E-S-"

Knowing Arthur would be embarrassed to be seen using baby talk, Mrs. Jones retreated, smiling wanly. _'All sets of twins ought to come with an Arthur,' she_ thought happily as she headed down the stairs, listening to Arthur's horrible singing. Thankfully, it didn't seem to both Alfred, who stayed blissfully quiet.

A few months later, when Alfred and Matthew were almost a year old, Matthew said his first word—'_Mama_,'—and a few days later, Alfred came up with '_Arfur_.' Arthur had been so touched with joy that he told every kid in the neighborhood about it. He'd bragged to poor Francis so often that the little boy had at last threatened to whack Arthur upside the head with a croquet mallet if he didn't knock it off.

Soon, Alfred and Matthew had turned one, and were curiously looking down at their birthday cake. Matthew sniffed at it wonderingly while Alfred had let out a joyful squawk, and proceeded to bury his face into it. Arthur was aghast when his laughing parents told him to leave Alfred _be_ for a moment, and let him enjoy himself. The disgruntled five year old did not understand.

~*oOo*~

Matthew was an easy-going, quiet little boy who liked to stay in his usual corner and play with his teddy bear, or sit on his father's lap while the man watched hockey games. Alfred, however, toddled anyplace he could, getting into everything. Arthur was soon scurrying after him to keep up, squawking like an indignant mother hen.

Much to Arthur's dismay, Alfred positively _adored_ mess and mischief, and more so for both combined. The boy could not be deterred from a jar of jelly, paint, or a mud puddle to save his life. The noisier he could be, the better, and people four houses down the street were typically well-aware when Alfred was playing outside.

Matthew was a fairly willing participant in Arthur's tea parties, whereas Alfred would get bored and run off before Arthur was finished introducing him to Lord Mint Bunny the III and his lovely wife Lady McFlopsyBunny. Arthur thrived on punctuality and cleanliness—Alfred was dressed in a raincoat before he was allowed to try blackberry pie. Arthur was forever lecturing Alfred, who forever took it in stride, cheerfully ignoring Arthur as he had more and more misadventures.

It pained Arthur when Alfred would drag Matthew along into one of his schemes instead of his big brother. He knew why of course; Arthur was the responsible tattletale, whereas Alfred could talk Matthew into almost anything, which was one of the many reasons Alfred loved his twin so much. Arthur was the protector, the worrier, but sometimes, he couldn't help but feel a little left out of the twins' antics, which confused him. He didn't have very many friends at school, but that was fine by him, because that was just the sort of person Arthur was, plain and simple.

He found himself relieved when Alfred would run to him when scared or sad or in trouble. It made Arthur tremendously happy, the way Alfred would look up at him with those trusting eyes and that sweet, childish sense that Arthur could handle anything. It made him feel like a mountain, capable of doing anything.

And he would do anything for Alfred. When the brothers played knights (Matthew was usually the damsel in distress, much to his chagrin), Arthur was _King_ Arthur, the noble and magnificent king who defended Alfred against the dragon, which just so happened to be the family cat.

Kids at school gave him a funny look when he claimed that his brother was his best friend, but Alfred was Arthur's favorite person. He loved Matthew too of course, but Alfred was half the sky.

When the twins were three and Arthur was seven, they went off to nursery school for the first time. Arthur had hemmed and hawed over the twins' appearances, trying to hide the fact that he felt sick with anxiety.

"I don't wanna go! Don't wanna go!" Matthew had cried, clinging hopefully to Arthur's shirt."Can't we go with you?"

Arthur felt a lump rise in his throat when Alfred grabbed him too, looking for all the world like a lost puppy.

"N-now, you'll have lots of fun—"

"But what if we don't? I want Daddy! I want Mommy!"

Shaking them off when his bus had come had made him absolutely miserable, and he'd waved to his little brothers for as long as he could from the window. Matthew had his face buried in Alfred's shirt and Alfred had tried to put up a brave front, but he'd obviously been scared silly. However, he'd looked slightly relieved when he'd glanced over at another child at the bus stop, whose face was buried in the skirts of a young teenage girl.

Blinking in confusion at the sudden wave of irritation that had washed over him, Arthur had settled back in his seat and told himself that the queasiness in his stomach was just due to his own nerves.

~*oOo*~

Arthur had worried about them both all through school, and dashed off the bus when the time finally came to come home. He'd all but burst through the front door, expecting tears and hysterics, only to find his two little brothers enjoying their snack at the table, chatting cheerfully about their day.

"It wasn't bad at all," Alfred had boasted while the twins ate their graham crackers. "Matthew cried at first, but then he started playing with this one loud kid, and I found this other kid who was really really nice! I like him a lot!"

Arthur had smiled, but still felt something in his stomach twist. "Oh really? What was his name?"

"Ivan. I forget his last name. It was weird and long and not easy like Jones. He cried a lot when his sister tried to go, so I held his and Mattie's hands and sat with him on the bus! You were right Arthur—it DOES bump a lot more in the back! Me and Ivan are gonna sit there from now on, cause it's fun!

"When we got there, Ivan drawed a picture of his family, and I drawed one too, then we learned everyone's names. I forget most of them, but I learned 'Mattie' cause he's my brother, and I learned 'Ivan!' Guess what? He learned me, too!"

"You mean he learned your name," corrected Arthur, reaching for an apple. He found he wasn't really very hungry anymore, so he put it back. Alfred went on, his words an excitable mess.

"We ate snack, then we learned numbers, and shapes, which were easy! Ivan can even say 'octa-ooto…o-octagon!' He knows what an _octagon_ is, Artie!" Alfred had hopped up and down in his seat, as if this fact gave Ivan celebrity status. Arthur sneered as he sat down at his place next to their mother.

"So?" Alfred just gave him an exasperated look before going on, chugging half his glass of milk down to fortify himself. Gasping, scrubbing half-heartedly at his milk mustache, he'd gone on:

"Guess what? Ivan likes _Space Avengers_ too, so we played space, then, when Mattie went off to play with that big kid whose name I don't know, I played with Ivan more and it was a lot of fun! We made a mountain of sand and went to Mars and everything! I think we're friends."

Matthew nodded cheerfully, his mouth full of graham cracker. Arthur seized Alfred's face and tried to wipe the mess away, but the little boy had just leaned away with a moan. "Arrrttttiiiiiiieeee, stop doooiiinnnggg that!"

Arthur reared back as if he'd been slapped, face set in an ugly grimace.

"Glad to see that you and your baby friends had fun in your baby school," Arthur had said snidely, regretting it immediately when Alfred started to cry. Upon seeing his twin cry, Matthew started crying too, getting crumbs all over his front.

Their mother sent Arthur upstairs.

He'd stomped all the way up, slammed his door shut, then opened it again and slammed it once more for good measure, and tossed down his book bag before he threw himself on his bed, and began to cry wet, angry tears into his pillow.

~*oOo*~

Later that night, it started to storm, and thunder boomed outside. Matthew was tuckered out from his long day of running around the playground and didn't notice, so he slept easily.

But Alfred, who was terrified of thunder, raced out of bed past his parents' room to Arthur's, scrambling into bed with a distraught whimper. Arthur lay still, feeling ready to cry again. He'd waited for the sound of Alfred's little feet, but he didn't think he'd actually come. He felt giddy with relief.

"Are you okay?" Arthur whispered as Alfred flung his arms around him. "I'm sorry I said the thing about the baby school—"

"That wasn't nice," sniffed Alfred, tears racing down his face, on Arthur's skin. Arthur squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry. I just had a bad day. I'm still your King Arthur, right?"

"….yeah," said Alfred with a sigh, cringing as thunder roared outside. He squeaked and retreated closer to Arthur, who held his little brother tightly. Arthur smiled in the dark.

"I'm your King Arthur. I won't let Lancelot get hurt by lightning. I'll protect you with my magic. Nothing will ever hurt you if you're with me, Alfred."

"Never?"

"Never."

He felt Alfred relax beside him, and his heart broke a little, though he wasn't sure why.

"….I'm still your friend, right Alfred?" He couldn't quite keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Alfred smiles sleepily. "Yeah. You and Mattie and Ivan. All friends."

"But I'm your best, right?"

"Course. I love you, Arthur."

Arthur glowed. "That's good. You can go to sleep, now."

All was right with the world.

Or so it was, until Mr. and Mrs. Jones' car tumbled into the ravine.

~*oOo*~

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**Yeah. *Gulps* Sadly necessary for the story, but still...**

**Will be testing for a little while and probably won't update quite so fast-but PLEASE review! *Puppy eyes***


	3. Two Promises

**Chapter Three**: Two Promises

**Okay, so I lied. But only because you guys are cute and it's a birthday present to myself. :) I love working on this story.**

**Aaaaannnd we're back, with some momentary chibi cuteness, flashbacks, and existential angst. Y'know, everyone's really rooting for Arthur right now! "Awww, he's so cute and possessive." "Go Artie!" "He's so sweet and cool!"**

***Raises eyebrow***

**Weeelll….Ivan_ just_ might have a thing to say about that. ;) Not that I don't care about Artie, of course, little nutjob that he is. He and Natalia ought to have tea sometime. *Sighs* As always, please be kind and review. *Hugs reader* This chapter may seem a little confusing, but everything ties in the second chapter and fills in whatever blanks are left. Then, the plot starts racing! Get your fill of chibi cuteness here!**

~*oOo*~

* * *

_Alfred miserably watched his brother's bus pulling away, feeling sick. This was the end. Even heroes had their breaking point, and he was fairly certain he'd just discovered his. Mattie was clutching to his hand and sobbing quietly, and now Alfred felt more alone and scared than ever. He puffed out his little chest and tried to smile reassuringly for his twin, but the expression came out weak._

_"D-Don't worry, Mattie! We'll be fine! A-Artie said that preschool will b-be f-fun!"_

_"But what if the kids are mean, l-like t-t-the kids at the playground?" Mattie fretted. "L-like that one kid who t-tossed sand i-in my eyes?"_

_Before he could respond, another voice broke out from behind him._ "Nyet! _I do not want to go!_ Nyet! _Big sister, take me with you!"_

_Alfred's head whipped around; a pretty young girl with very fine hair was gently trying to pry away a little boy's face from her skirts. Though the weather was warm and pleasant, the boy had a white scarf wrapped around his neck, as if he were a pilot. Feeling better almost immediately, Alfred made to approach the boy, even as Matthew tried to tug him away._

_"Hi! My name's Alfred, and his is Matthew. Are you going to preschool today too?"_

_The young girl's doe-like eyes flickered to Alfred, a soft smile appearing on her features. "Oh, hello, there! Ivan, look, your classmates are here!" But the little boy just buried his face deeper into the cloth, his arms wrapped firmly around the teenager's knees. The girl sighed, and tenderly patted the little boy on the head._

_"I'm sorry, he's a bit shy—"_

_"So is Mattie," said Alfred cheerfully, taking Ivan's hand. Ivan tried to tug it away from him, but Alfred persistently held on. "Is your name Ivan? That's a cool name. Mine's Alfred." Ivan turned enough to look at Alfred, only for both boys' eyes to widen in surprise. _

_"You have a rocketship on your shirt!" crowed Alfred, peering at Ivan's blue t-shirt in admiration. "That's so cool. I love space."_

_"There are…there are two of you," said Ivan in confusion, looking at the Alfred grinning cockily at him and the Alfred cowering behind…Alfred. Matthew frowned, though he stayed safely behind his brother. _

_"Not two Alfreds!" he insisted. "I'm his twin."_

_"How neat!" exclaimed the older girl, smiling. "I must admit, I can't tell you two apart…"_

_"Like I said, he's Matthew, and I'm Alfred," said the boy cheerily. "If you wanna know how to tell us apart, ya just gotta look for the birthmark on Mattie's elbow." Matthew raised his elbow in testament, smiling shyly at Ivan's sister. She really was very nice-looking. "It looks like a Maple leaf," he commented, almost proudly. _

_"It most certainly does! Was that your older brother on the elementary bus?"_

_"Uh-huh, there's three of us—" _

_"What a coincidence! There are three in our family as well," said the girl cheerfully. "My name is Katyusha, by the way, and his is Ivan."_

_Ivan murmured a shy hello. Alfred smiled encouragingly at him._

_"Are you scared?"_

_A pause, then a quiet "Da." Alfred turned his head and frowned in confusion; Katyusha quickly spoke up. "'Da' means yes, Alfred dear—we just moved here to the States from Russia, and Ivan's still learning new words." Ivan's ears turned bright pink. _

_"Hey, that's okay! I think it's really neat that you can talk in Russian!" exclaimed Alfred. "Could you teach me? I'll teach English words to you if you like. And why are you s-scared?" he tried to ignore his own impending terror at the thought of going to school._

_Ivan swallowed. "No friends to make."_

_"Well, you're in luck Ivan, 'cause I'll be your friend!" said Alfred cheerfully, taking the surprised boy's hand once again. "And Mattie will be too, right?" Matthew nodded timidly and Katyusha beamed. _

_"See? You are making friends before you even enter classroom!" Two yellow buses approached, and Katyusha gently pushed Ivan towards one. "Now, have a good day and have stories when you come home, da?"_

_"D-Da." Ivan's tears had turned to excitement. "Come with us?" he asked hopefully, and Katyusha gave him a look._

_"Big boys go off with friends to try new things. Little boys run home and play house with baby Natalia."_

_Ivan swallowed as he headed towards the little yellow bus. "Y-Yes." He scurried up the steps with Alfred, Matthew hot on their heels. "Can we sit here?" He gestured at a random seat. Alfred shook his head._

_"Nah, let's sit in the back."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because of the bump!"_

_Ivan blinked in confusion as the door swung shut behind the three boys. "Bump?"_

_"Trust me. It'll be fun." The three boys settled down onto a seat and Ivan turned to Alfred hopefully._

_"So, you really like space?" _

~*oOo*~

When the twins were five and Arthur was nine, tragedy struck. One evening, Mr. and Mrs. Jones left the boys in the Bonnefoys' care (Despite Arthur's insistence that they did _not_ need a sitter) to attend a concert.

But it had been snowing that evening, the roads were slippery, and the salt trucks had not yet been out. Mr. and Mrs. Jones' car had skidded off the road on a patch of ice, and had flipped over several times before rolling upside down in a ditch. Mrs. Jones had died immediately, whereas Mr. Jones had been rescued from the wreck in a critical state. He died the next morning.

Matthew had wept bitterly at the funeral until he was physically sick. Alfred had clung to Arthur for dear life and ruined Arthur's jacket with salty tears, filling up the chapel with brokenhearted sobs. Arthur had gone red in face from the exertion of trying not to cry, and had finally broken down when the first shovelfuls of dirt had landed on the caskets.

His angry and distraught tears had only gotten worse when the Braginski siblings—why the _heck_ did Alfred feel the need to invite the stupid, stupid _Braginskis_?—had shown up. Katyusha's dark eyes were swimming in tears when she took in the three Jones, holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly, as Ivan ran forward to embrace a weeping Alfred. A little girl with suspicious eyes and a large bow in her sand-colored hair had clung insistently at her brother, hissing "No, no, no!" all the while as the two boys wept. Katyusha had quietly placed the bouquet with the other flowers at the altar, tears running down her face.

"My mother's been praying. I am truly sorry for your loss. So sorry," she whispered, and her voice cracked.

Arthur shot her a poisonous look as Matthew ran to her, seeking a warmer embrace than Arthur could give him. The little eight year old hated Katyusha, hated Ivan, hated the stupid little girl whose name he didn't know—out of sheer spite and hopelessness. He wanted someone to run to, someone who could hug him and console him when he was inconsolable. He felt betrayed by his brothers. Why didn't they just marry the Braginskis, and leave him by himself?

Arthur turned his teary gaze away from Katyusha to the ceiling, where sunlight was flickering through stained glass windows. He had to be brave. Had to be a pillar. Because Alfred was going to need his brother—his sole protector—from now on. Arthur could make no time for grief.

~*oOo*~

The Jones had no relatives on either side, none who would take the boys in, anyway. The Jones children were all made wards of the state immediately following the funeral.

Mrs. Bonnefoy's heart had gone out to the boys, but she certainly didn't want to take on the extra duties that would come with foster-raising three extra children. And she knew full well that Francis would sooner run away to Transylvania before he'd call Arthur his brother, and Arthur likewise.

However, because she was unable to conceive another baby, she and Mr. Bonnefoy decided to adopt the sweet and shy little Matthew, the one Jones' brother Francis seemed to like.

"_It's a favorable outcome_," the social worker in charge of the Jones' case had written in her file. "_Matthew will only be moving one house away, and considering his emotional state, that will be good for him. Alfred and Arthur will be kept together at the second chance home for boys, and will continue going to the same school with Matthew. They will be able to visit each other three or four times a month until another hopefully favorable housing option is found for both Alfred and Arthur_."

Despite Arthur's insistence that the brothers were to stay together, the state ultimately decided to make the transition happen, because the Bonnefoys were willing and the boys' home had only two beds. The social worker had had to drag Matthew away from his screaming twin, and drove away with Matthew just three nights following the funeral. Alfred had clung to Arthur in the doorway of the children's home and cried until his voice went out. Arthur had held onto his brother for dear life, staring as the vehicle disappeared into the night.

~*oOo*~

"Ooh, what's this? A baby rocket? You gonna fly to the moon in this, Alfred-o sauce head?"

"Give that back! It's mine!"

"Says you and what army, you stinking piece of—hey, what the heck do you think you're-_aaaaggghhh!_ GET OFF OF ME, ARTHUR, **YOU SICK FREAK**! OW! OW! Owowowowowowowow! Stop pulling! I'm telling, I'm telling!"

Such was an ordinary afternoon at Brighton's Second Chance Home for Wayward Boys. It was far from ideal, considering the majority of children there were world-weary and hyperactive little creatures, left-alone and afraid on a doorstop full of people used to being shipped around in the foster care system.

Alfred wet the bed for nights after the move, and was picked on for everything from his numerous bed-wetting accidents to his name, and Arthur, once a golden boy who got straight As in conduct, now regularly got into fights with bullies. His face was pulled into an angry scowl more than ever, and he drifted around Alfred like a protective mother cat, claws almost always out.

The director was kind, but extremely busy, and there wasn't much time to give to the boys one-on-one. The budget was low, so the boys scarcely saw many luxuries, like a nice present at Christmastime. Or grief counseling outside of sessions with the school counselor. Arthur became even more withdrawn at school, and his teachers worried about him, despite his excellent grades.

Matthew Bonnefoy (It was strange for Alfred and Arthur to hear that) wasn't much better. He rarely had a day in school where he did not have a nervous breakdown, and he didn't get to visit very often, though at least Alfred could see him in class, and Arthur at recess. Alfred went from a confidant, world-conquering little champion to one who cried very often and easily. He was forever seeking out his older brother Arthur, forever wanting a kiss on the forehead or a hug. Always the hugs. He couldn't get enough, and Arthur, patient and loyal sibling he was, was always ready to supply them.

If only he didn't seek them so often from _Ivan_. Arthur was coming to hate that stupid little kid. The eldest Jones brother couldn't honestly say what it was about Alfred's friend that made him so intolerable, but he most certainly was.

He thought it might be his mannerisms, his voice, the way he wore a scarf in the stifling heat, eyed Arthur with something akin to dread whenever Arthur looked at him. Whatever Alfred saw in him, he didn't know.

Arthur believed that Ivan would find Alfred's nearly incessant sadness to be deterring, but every recess, Arthur would run out to console his dearest brother only to find him wiping tears on Braginski's sleeves, clinging to the Russian instead of his good big brother, who also needed him.

Ivan would clear out pretty quickly when Arthur cleared his throat or clicked his tongue, and had learned not to look Arthur in the face, which was both comforting and annoying somehow.

Ivan could never do a third of the things Arthur did for his little brother. Alfred had his own bed, but he'd insisted on sharing with Arthur. At least the rain in Spain was beginning to dwindle somewhat, not that it mattered too much to him. In the nights Alfred was upset enough to have an accident, Arthur just cleaned them both up with the sheets before rocking his brother to sleep.

He was the best big brother in the world, and he knew it. He certainly didn't need Alfred to bring him a macaroni-covered mug that informed him that Arthur was the best big brother ever.

But that didn't stop him from carrying it everywhere, of course. It was his third most prized possession…

~*oOo*~

_One fine summer's afternoon in the backyard of the Jones' house, Alfred had been contently digging at the delightful mud puddles he'd been lucky enough to find, humming slightly as he did so. Relishing in the feel of the grimy mud squishing between his fingertips, the little boy studiously packed one into a small ball, considering it curiously. He didn't want to find out, but it would probably taste better than one of Artie's tarts._

_"Alfred."_

_Startled, the three year old child looked up from the mud piles he'd been making, face streaked with dirt and a happy grin. Arthur stood at a safe distance, dressed smartly, careful not to get his loafers dirty. They looked like they had been clumsily polished, shining dully in the sunshine coming in through the trees._

_"Yes, Artie?"_

_The green-eyed boy had just looked at him, expression tense. Said expression had frightened away several of his classmates at school—Arthur had the unfortunate look of a boy who was scowling even when he was not, but Alfred paid it no mind. _

_The little boy's face colored, and he hemmed and hawed and cleared his throat before asking gruffly: "It's an awfully nice day outside, so I was wondering….would you like to marry me?"_

_He stuck out the arm that had been behind his back and presented his little brother a handful of dandelions and violets. Alfred took one look at the bouquet and laughed. _

_"Silly Artie, you can't marry me! We're both boys!"_

_Ears turning scarlet and face crumpling, Arthur made to turn away, but Alfred jumped up and seized his brother by the hand. He knew what that expression meant. "Wait! Artie, please don't be sad! I don't think boys can marry boys, is all!"_

_Arthur glanced down at his now muddy hand and groaned. He was going to have to wash it before long…_

_"I heard in the news that you can," he said grumpily, attempting to take another step towards the house. "If you want to. But, since you don't…"_

_Alfred tugged on his brother's hand again, making him turn back around. "Wait! If I marry you, will you pwomise not to tell Matthew that I took the Sugar Bombs decoder ring out of the cereal box without asking?"_

_Arthur smiled, expression now hopeful. "Yes. I'm sorry I didn't court you before I proposed, but if you'll marry me now, that'll be good."_

_Alfred cocked his head to the side, looking confused. _

_"What's 'court?'"_

_Arthur ran a hand through Alfred's hair. "When you try to convince the lady you like that it would be a good idea to get married." _

_Alfred glared at his brother and stomped his foot. "I'm not a lady!"_

_Arthur smirked, bent on one knee, and again offered the bouquet to Alfred, which he grudgingly took. He supposed the flowers would look nice in his mud pies later on. _

_Much to his delight, Arthur took out a red ring pop out from his pocket, tore the packaging away, and presented it to his brother with his non-dirty hand. _

_"Alfred F. Jones, would you marry me?"_

_"Sure." Alfred smiled as Arthur carefully slid the candy ring onto his finger, and the boy sucked on it happily. He paused momentarily, and worriedly asked, "I'm the husband, right?"_

_~*oOo*~_

_They married in the presence of all of Arthur's stuffed animals, and Alfred wore a roll of paper towel over his head, which he supposed made a fine veil. Arthur had been unable to find another ring pop, so he simply took the decoder ring Alfred had recovered and slipped the plastic ring over his own finger while Alfred ate his wedding ring. When they were done saying the "I do's," Alfred and Arthur proceeded to throw rice at each other before Arthur took him by the hand and led him to Hawaii, which was their mother's flower bed. _

_The ring became Arthur's second favorite possession, something he kept underneath his pillow. _

~*o0o*~

The days went by. Three months after the accident, Alfred's kindergarten class was on a field trip to a farm. Alfred had been having one of his good days, one where he did not say very much, but at least there were no tears. Ivan had stood beside him, holding his hand and smiling broadly as one of the farmers explained how baby chicks were hatched. Alfred could not deny that he'd been curious too.

That was until the parent chaperones had come in. The little boy had taken one look at them before he had run off howling in pain outside of the barn to the enormous patch of sunflowers. The parents tried to give chase, but Alfred was almost inhumanly fast, and was soon lost from sight amongst the large yellow blossoms.

Before anyone could notice, Ivan slipped in amongst the green stalks, and began to hunt for his best friend. It wasn't difficult for him to find a little trodden path, and he followed it until the sounds of Alfred's sobs began to break through the air. He hurried towards the sounds until he found Alfred in a little clearing on his knees, crying his heart out.

"I wish you could come home with me and be **my **brother," said Ivan sadly, awkwardly winding his little arms around the crying little boy. "That would be wonderful."

Face still flushed by tears, Alfred looked up from his shaking hands to give Ivan a watery smile.

"….yeah…" He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes with Ivan's scarf, hoping his friend wouldn't mind. "Artie's a good brother, but I miss **Mattie**. I miss **Mommy**. I miss **Daddy**. Artie tries to be Mommy and Daddy and it helps sometimes but sometimes he tries too hard and it makes everythin' worse."

The little child turned his face to the sun, to the sunflowers waving their cheerful yellow heads in the breeze, like a thousand strangers coming to say hello. His blue eyes matched the color of the skies, but Ivan was dismayed to see yet more sadness in them.

"Sometimes, when I'm in bed with Artie and he hugs me, everythin's okay," he said softly. "Cause he's my big brother and he'll look after things cause he can do anythin'. Anythin', Ivan! But sometimes he can't or he gets really mean and bossy and I wish…I wish…"

"You wish what?"

"That Mommy and Daddy took me with them!" exclaimed Alfred, burying his face in his hands again, not noticing Ivan stiffen and jump to his feet. "Then it wouldn't be s-so lonely…."

"Nyet." Ivan tried to yank Alfred's hands away from his eyes. "Do not say these things anymore! I do not like them!"

Alfred looked at his friend between his trembling fingertips, and found to his surprise that Ivan looked both angry and scared. He stopped sobbing, and Ivan firmly pulled his hands away, before tugging the little blue-eyed boy to his feet.

"'Nyet?'" repeated Alfred, sounding confused. "What…"

"It means no," said Ivan fiercely. "No, no, and no again! You are my friend, and here you must stay. Your Mama and Papa left you here like…like Superman so that you would be safe and strong. For Mattie. For Arthur. For me."

Alfred blinked, a stray tear running down his little cheek. Ivan attempted to swipe it away with his sleeve, but Alfred just jumped back, fussing.

"Hey, yer just like Artie!" he complained, scrubbing at his own face. "Y-you mean it? I'm…I'm like Superman?"

Relieved that the tears had stopped running down his face, Ivan nodded and cast his friend a big smile.

"Da. You are brave. You are bravest person I know. You walked across the street without holding anyone's hands to get my ball back. You try to ride bike without trying training wheels first. You know how to talk to people," Ivan breathed, taking Alfred's hand again. "_Everyone_ likes you. You are bravest, strongest person I know."

"Well, I s'pose," said Alfred, preening a little even in his misery, heart warmed by Ivan's comment. "But Ivan, I don't feel strong," admitted the boy sadly, looking down at his lap. "I just feel sad. And scared."

"My sister says that being brave isn't about fearing nothing," said Ivan firmly. "That is not being brave. Being brave is being full of fear, but still being able to be strong when you do not feel it deep down." He squeezed Alfred's hand. "Like the Cowardly Lion. He was afraid of everything, but he still was brave when it counted. You are brave, very brave, Alfred, and your brothers need a brave hero."

He paused. Then, he added gently, "I will need a brave hero, too. I need someone to pick me to be on their team when we play dodgeball and someone to help me tie my shoes and tell me I can do something I do not think I can."

Thinking carefully, he began to unwind the white scarf from around his shoulders, and began to wrap it around Alfred's. The little boy's blue eyes nearly popped out of his head as he goggled at Ivan. This was Ivan's most precious possession, his security blanket!

"Ivan, I can't take this." He tried to hand it back.

"Take it," Ivan insisted, pushing it into his hands. "You are Superman, and this is Superman's cape, to guard you from uh….kry…..cuptonyte…..kipt….that bad glowy thing that hurts Superman and makes him weak. But this scarf will help you stay strong."

He faltered, then grinned.

"Though please let me borrow it sometimes."

Alfred just nodded weakly, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes again. But they were not unhappy tears.

"It will? Help me be strong?"

"It helped me meet you, right?" Ivan grinned as Alfred pressed the soft fabric to his cheek. "I do not need it anymore. I have you if I need someone to make me brave."

Alfred's chest puffed out as if he'd been presented a medal, glowing with pride.

"Well, of course y'do! I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'll be your hero, Ivan. Never fear. I'll take care of everythin'."

"That's good. Because….I do not know how to get back to the farm, to be honest."

"Pshaw! I do, I do!" Noticing that Ivan was already beginning to eye his scarf rather longingly, Alfred quickly wrapped the trailing material safely around Ivan's neck, while the little Russian smiled in gratitude. Then, the two headed back to the farm, awkwardly bumping each other now and again, scarf keeping them from wandering too far away.

~*oOo*~

"Alright, everyone! Remember, at eight-thirty you're to pair up with your buddy and find your bus number! Your teacher will be there to take your permission slips and take names."

A seven year old Alfred turned to grin at his seatmate, his smile missing several baby teeth. "D'you think we're on the same bus?"

Ivan smiled back at him, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know yet. But I hope so." His expression fell somewhat, and the boy looked crestfallen. "I wish you and I could be buddies for the trip."

Alfred sighed dramatically, and patted Ivan's shoulder. "Yeah…..but c'mon. We're still buddies." The child rocked back and forth in his seat, his bright blue eyes flickering to the clock on the wall every few seconds. "C'mon!" the child pled to the godless device. "Move faster!"

Ivan dove into his lunchbox, making sure that the camera Katyusha had given him for the trip was still there. "I will be out of film before lunch."

"Better save it, buddy. I'm sure they'll save the really cool stuff for the end." Both Ivan and Alfred had only waited for this day for three weeks, ever since their teacher had announced that the boys' second grade class was heading to San Diego's Air and Space museum with the fifth graders, which meant Arthur and Francis were coming too. Each second-grader was going to be paired up with one fifth grade "buddy" to escort them around the museum and mind them for the day.

Alfred's eyes wandered away from the clock to his twin brother across the room, who was nervously clutching his backpack to his front as though he were afraid someone was going to snatch it away from him. The little blond sighed quietly.

"I'm pretty sure that Mattie's gonna be with Francis, 'cause, well…." He trailed off, and Ivan sadly nodded in agreement.

After a few years of sessions with the school counselor, Alfred's spirits had definitely turned for the better. He no longer cried every day in class, and his confidence had returned.

But Matthew remained incredibly quiet, insecure, and he cried every other day in class. When they passed in the halls, Matthew would scurry to Francis' Bonnefoy's side, always wanting an embrace. Arthur would occasionally hug him if Matthew went to him, but it never lasted for very long. Francis, on the other hand, had risen to meet the duties of being an elder brother exponentially, and Alfred often found the older French boy soothing Matthew the way….well, the way _Arthur _soothed _him_ when he felt his heart was breaking. Or the way Ivan would, though it was different somehow.

"The teachers will know that he is nervous," murmured Ivan. "They will put him with Francis, and make him happy." Alfred smiled at Ivan, relieved that he understood.

"They're probably gonna put me with Arthur again." Alfred made a face. "Not that I mind, but I like to meet new people. Arthur's probably gonna take me on one of those boring tour things that go on forever and don't let you have any fun!"

"Or he will stay at one station forever and talk and talk and talk and talk," murmured Ivan sympathetically. One field trip to the Natural History Museum with Arthur as their buddy had been so boring that Alfred had had to keep pinching Ivan awake. "Maybe they will put you with someone different."

He didn't like Arthur. Or rather, Arthur really did not like him. He could not have imagined what he had done to make Arthur hate him so.

If only he knew just how much more Arthur Jones would hate him before the end of the day.

* * *

**...yeah. I went there. *Facepalms***

**Awww, the boys are going to the museum! Nothing could possibly go wrong today! *Coughs* Reviews will make a wonderful birthday present!**


	4. Runaway, Part I

~*Chapter Four: Runaway, Part I*~

**^)^ ^o^ Hey look! It's Ivan and Alfred! I wonder what Arthur's face-thing would look like...)8{ Probably a good fit. **

**Annnnd we're back! Reviews as always will earn my love and appreciation! A few things before we get started….**

**One, please remember that yes, this is a work of fiction, though I will try to fill in as many gaps as I can, and Two: Monaco is not an OC; she shows up in the Hetalia manga. She's sort of a big-sister country to France, and is a little old-fashioned. Not that Monaco really appears much in this story; I just thought you should know. **

**See you at the ending! *Zooms off* **

~*oOo*~

* * *

_"Big sister? Why does Arthur hate me?"_

_The young girl started, and turned around to give her brother a puzzled look before she set his glass of water on his bedside table. "Oh, Vanya," she said kindly, sinking onto Ivan's bed and smoothing his beige-blond hair. "Don't say such silly things! I am sure Arthur does not hate you."_

_Hugging his knees, Ivan rocked back and forth in his bed, scowling. "Da, he does. Every time I try to hug my good friend, he comes up and yanks him away and gives me this mean look." He shivered. "He is bossy and mean and asks me if I don't have other things to do when Alfred is sad!"_

_"Ivan…"_

_"It's true!" Ivan exclaimed angrily. "Even when we go to the boys' home to visit, he is always tapping his foot and looking at his watch and asking us if we're ready to go home! When I try to hug Alfred goodbye, he slams door in my face! I do not like Arthur. He always makes me feel dumb and then complains about having to explain things to 'people like me!' I hate Arthur! I hate him!"_

_"Shhh." Katyusha pulled her little brother into a hug, and then pulled back, giving him a stern look. "No, Ivan. Don't hate. You mustn't hate."_

_"But_ he _hates_ me!" _the child protested. "Why should I not hate him?"  
_

_"He wants you to hate him," she said wearily, lifting Ivan's chin so that the little boy had no choice but to look at his sister in the eye. "Ivan, I'm surprised at you. That boy has lost his mother, father—and he can no longer live with one of his little brothers. That's over half his family lost to him. Would you like it if I were to go away?"_

_Ivan's eyes filled with tears. Katyusha brushed them away. "I get the feeling that if you lost Mama and I, you would cling to Natalia, and she to you."_

_"She already…"_

_"Hush." She looked at him kindly. "The point is, Arthur is a boy who is trying very hard not to lose what he has left. Alfred is all he has, and poor Arthur is probably just terrified of losing him, too. Try to take pity, Ivan, and understand—Arthur probably just wants some time alone to grieve with his brothers."_

_"But I miss playing with Alfred," Ivan whimpered. "And he's getting better, now. He smiled yesterday when I brought him dandelions—before_ Arthur _showed up." He said the name as though he'd gotten a burst of sour grapes in his mouth. Katyusha continued to try and reason with the unhappy boy. _

_"Vanya, Alfred also has a wound that he will carry his entire life. If he doesn't want to play right now—"_

_"He does!" Ivan insisted. "Or at least he would play with me if Arthur didn't keep dragging him away! I know it! He cries sometimes when we are alone, but then we play and Alfred is happy, and then Arthur comes up and grabs him!"_

_Katyusha sighed sadly. "Ivan, you are imagining things."_

~*oOo*~

* * *

"C'mon, Mattie! Don't be sad! I'm sure you're gonna be with Arthur or Francis and everything's gonna be great and fun!"

Alfred's twin's shoulders trembled as the boy fought back tears. "B-but what if I d-don't get F-Francis or A-Arthur? What if I get some b-big m-m-mean person who w-won't l-like me and—and—"

"_Nyet_," said Ivan kindly. "You should not think like that."

The children were lined up in front of the door as their teacher rechecked their permission slips. Alfred had tugged his little brother into the queue with Ivan, though Matthew looked as though he very much wanted to turn tail and dive underneath his chair. Alfred smiled reassuringly and squeezed his brother's hand.

"If it's someone new, you can make a new friend! You can never have too many friends! And if they're a big slimy jerkheads, then you can run off and find Ivan or me!"

"B-but the t-teacher—"

"Won't get mad unless she finds out!" exclaimed Alfred eagerly, not noticing as Ivan and Matthew exchanged glances upon hearing _those_ familiar words. "You're probably gonna be with Francis anyway, and you'll have fun. I'll probably be with Arthur," added Alfred, sounding resigned. "He's gonna give me the lunch he made when our classes meet up…it's probably gonna taste like dirty socks."

Mattie giggled, but then wistfulness crept into his eyes, and he hugged his backpack, which looked like a polar bear.

"At least Arthur still makes you your lunch…"

"Yeah," said Alfred, squeezing his hand again. "I'm sure he'd make one for you too if he didn't think Francis wasn't going to send you to school with all those yummy Easy-Bake treats. You're lucky, Mattie. At least you don't have to try and swap rocks for cookies n'stuff. Remember that biscuit I gave you that Artie made usin' the home's kitchen?"

Mattie made a face. "Francis and I used it as a hockey puck, and Papa uses it as a doorstop."

Alfred's spirits fell, and he slid his hand out of Mattie's. He really, really didn't like it when Mattie called Mr. and Mrs. Bonnefoy 'Mama and Papa,' but experience had taught him that if he started yelling now, Mattie would cry and hide himself in the lockers until the custodian could get him out. Ivan took Alfred's free hand and clasped it in his own.

"Remember, today is going to be a fun day," said Ivan firmly, and Alfred squeezed back gratefully.

"Alright, everyone, let's head down the hall," called out their teacher, opening the door and shepherding the excited students out.

~*oOo*~

Little children murmured amongst themselves as they checked the listings for their partner, many complaining, some smiling, others searching amongst the crowd of tweens for their match. Ivan, Matthew, and Alfred were peering up at the names, searching for their own.

"Told ya," said Alfred, after squinting at the lines carefully. Funnily enough, his vision seemed to grow blurrier as he grew older…. "Told ya that you'd be with Francis and I'd get Arthur." He didn't sound altogether pleased with the arrangement.

Matthew let out a puff of air, obviously relieved. "That's good. 'm glad," he said softly. "Though I wish that you were with our group, Alfred."

"Me too." Ivan sighed. "It will be not so fun if we are not together."

"Yeah..." Alfred's shoulders sagged.

Arthur was a boy who delighted in telling you facts he did not think you could read yourself—never mind if you couldn't read very well anyway—and enjoyed boring historical exhibits like collections of china belonging to dead people instead of the fun ones where things lit up and buzzed and asked you interesting trivia questions.

Knowing him, he'd probably wrote a schedule detailing the exact events of the day, whereas Francis was content to drift about in no particularly hurry, eying pretty girls.

Ivan was the only one who'd been partnered anyone new—some fifth-grader named Toris, who'd waved at Ivan from the back of the classroom. He had kind eyes and a friendly smile. Alfred groaned in jealousy.

"D'you wanna trade?" he asked Mattie, who quickly shook his head. "Oh, c'mon, he's your brother too—"

Mattie just shook his head again. "Even if he thought he was assigned me, he'd only just ask the teacher to swap us both."

"No he wouldn't."

"Yes, he would," insisted Matthew, who buried his face in his backpack again. "Arthur won't even lemme call him 'Artie' without getting angry. You're the only one he 'llows to call 'im that."

"I am?" Alfred had never noticed. He turned hopefully towards his best friend. "Hey, Ivan, wanna trade?"

He supposed the look of absolute horror Ivan gave him was answer enough. Arthur and Ivan had never gotten along very well for some strange reason, but that was probably because Artie was stuffy and rubbed quite a few people the wrong way.

The pudding incident in first grade probably didn't help things between them. Nope; the teachers had much better sense then to pair those two together. Arthur would have gone berserk, and Ivan would have put a beetle in Arthur's sandwich when the older boy wasn't looking. The thought made Alfred smile a little.

Wasn't as if Ivan hadn't been there, done that.

Alfred scuffed the toe of his shoe against the carpet and pouted. He supposed he ought to feel bad about wanting to trade his brother, but he thought the purpose of the buddy system was to meet new people! Heck, he would have settled for Tino's partner, a positively frightening-looking fifth grader who seemed oblivious to Tino's quivering even as he held his hand. Alfred swallowed. Maybe his brother wasn't such a bad deal after all.

Francis squeezed through the group of students for his little brother, smiling serenely.

"'allo, Alfred, Ivan—mon _frère_," he added, ruffling Mattie's hair. Francis was a hopeless romantic, so when he'd learned that French was supposedly 'the language of love,' he'd begged and pleaded his mother for a French pocket dictionary, which remained on his person at all times. "We're going to have fun, _non_? Matthew, you look so cute with your new blazer!" he squeaked, pinching Matthew's cheek and eliciting a frown from Alfred. "Let's show Mrs. Monaco, so she can coo over you and my amazing fashion skills…"

The little boy rolled his eyes. "Francis, your teacher's a bajillion years older than you are. _And_ she's married."

Alfred snorted and started making kissy noises. "Francis and Mrs. Monaco, sittin' inna tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-"

"Ah, you flatter me, Alfred. You realize it's not really teasing when that's exactly what I want."

Matthew blushed. Ivan and Alfred made revolted faces, and Alfred started to gag. "Ewwwwww."

"Ewwwww," echoed Ivan, keen to copy Alfred.

Francis clutched his heart and sighed dramatically. "Ah, haven't you boys heard that true love conquers all? One of these days, my sweet teacher will fall for my charms, and—"

"Check herself into an insane asylum?" asked Arthur, appearing behind Francis, eyes narrowing at the proximity of Alfred and Francis. He immediately scooted between them, a sort of human shield. "Back off frog, if you're trying to contaminate my brother—"

"'allo, Arthur," said Francis with tooth-rotting sweetness. "I thought I smelled something 'orrible in ze room. But as it would turn out, that's just you."

"Um, please d-don't fight," murmured Matthew anxiously, worrying his lip. "T-today is…"

"'Contaminate?'" asked Francis, smirking. "Why, I'd think you and your cooking have probably done a fine job of contaminating Alfred thus far. I'm actually just amazed you haven't killed him yet."

Arthur turned purple, eyes bugging out of his head.

"I'll have you know that Alfred adores my cooking!" He looked at his little brother for help, who had suddenly developed a great interest in Ivan's shoes, which lit up when he walked. "Don't you, Alfred?"

"Y-yes," muttered Alfred, forcing a smile on his face. "Best in the world." Francis scoffed.

"I would rather serve dog food to Matthew before letting him eat the tripe you make for your brother. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Slime bucket! At least _I_ don't dress Alfred like a….like a…."

"Be quiet, Arthur!" snapped Ivan impatiently. Matthew had turned white and was twitching slightly, looking to be on the verge of a mental breakdown as his twin hugged him. Arthur glared at Ivan, but said nothing, looking slightly abashed.

Francis cleared his throat, eyes downcast.

"Yes…well…we will be seeing you later. Come, Matthew," he added, taking Mattie's hand. "Let's find a good seat in the front of the bus."

"But what about the back of the bus?" squeaked Mattie unhappily, rubbing his eyes as Francis led him out the door. "Everyone wants the back of the bus."

"But the teachers sit in FRONT of the bus, silly boy! How are we going to admire gorgeous women if we're far away?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed as Toris and Ivan began to chat. "He'll turn Matthew into a pervert one of these days…"

Alfred turned to look at him curiously. "What's a pervert?"

The eldest Jones' brother's ears went a dark pink. "N—nothing. Forget I said anything."

"But—"

"Come on, Alfred," said Arthur bossily, attempting to tug him out the door after Matthew and Francis. "Let's get on the bus and find a seat away from those two, hmm? If we hurry, maybe we can get the last seat in the back—"

But Alfred tugged back, something he knew Arthur did not like at all. "But what about Mattie? Can't we sit next to him? Oooh, actually—"

His head turned and he gave Ivan and his partner a big smile. "Hey, d'you guys mind if Ivan and me stick together with Mattie for a bit? I think Mattie might feel better if we stay close."

Ivan nodded vigorously, smiling eagerly.

"I don't mind—" started Toris, but Arthur insistently yanked on his brother's hand, giving Toris a cool look.

"Sorry, but you're supposed to sit next to your buddy—"

"So I stay with Ivan, right?" asked Alfred with a cocky grin. Arthur did not smile.

"The ones the teachers assigned us," he said, between gritted teeth. "So, you sit with me."

He tightened his grip, and proceeded to drag his little brother out of the classroom. Ivan seized Toris' hand and tugged the surprised boy after them, hurrying to keep up with Arthur.

"Fine. Then we will just sit near to you, da? That way Alfred and I can still talk," he said hopefully, violet eyes glittering as Alfred cheered.

Arthur said nothing, but the way he tightened his grip on Alfred's hand suggested that he didn't much like the idea at all. Alfred beamed at the Russian child.

"Awesome! This is gonna be the most awesome day of our lives!"

~*oOo*~

This was, without a doubt, the most boring day of his life.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Alfred plodded behind Arthur like a zombie as the older child read aloud facts about the construction of certain metals fit for aerodynamics from the pamphlet he got up front.

"Can you believe that those stupid Orville brothers tried to use paper with their first airplane? Ridiculous. What they should have been doing was using _refined_ metal, but it took engineers years before they manufactured planes that would increase velocity by blah-blah-blah-blah-blah…" Alfred's eyelids sagged and he tuned his brother out. And he had thought Math with Mr. Eduard was boring…..

Despite Ivan's and Alfred's attempts to stay close to each other, Toris had quickly become bored with Arthur's diatribe and had taken Ivan to the timeline of the Space Race—lucky skunk—while Arthur had pulled Alfred to the wing filled with old airplanes.

Now, normally this would be rather exciting for Alfred, but he should have known—even Arthur had a way of making cool stuff intolerably boring, the way he had at the Natural History Museum with his endless dull drawling. Who else but Arthur could make ancient samurai swords and dinosaur bones the stuff of sleeping pills?

Alfred yanked anxiously on his brother's shirt. "C'mon, Artie," he begged. "Let's go to the space room with the big model rocket! I think you're actually allowed to step inside it!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alfred, this is fascinating stuff. I thought you loved planes."

"I do!" protested Alfred. "'nd I'm gonna be a pilot one day if I don't become an astronaut! But I totally will become an astronaut, so that's why I gotta see the rocket with Ivan! So we can practice!"

Arthur haughtily raised an eyebrow.

"'Practice?'"

Alfred eagerly nodded. "Mm-hmm! He's gonna be an astronaut with me! We're gonna race to the stars, and 'm gonna get there first!" he said proudly. "We agreed that the first one there has gotta bring back the other stars in jars."

What absolutely ridiculous expectations. Arthur snorted as he turned back to his pamphlet.

"Alfred, in twenty years, Ivan's going to be pushing papers in some dead end office job if he's fortunate. Or he'll be a janitor or something. You won't even remember each other. And the likelihood of you being accepted by NASA is-"

Alfred stamped his foot, boredom replaced by anger. "What?" he demanded. "That's ridiculous! Ivan and me are gonna be best friends forever, and-"

"Brothers are good friends to keep around forever," chided Arthur gently, tapping a bewildered looking Alfred on the nose. "Because they stay forever. But friends you meet as kids don't count. Either we'll end up in a foster home or Ivan will move or-"

"Ivan will get to space 'cause he said he would," persisted Alfred stubbornly. "And he is not dumb! He's one of the smartest friends I ever had! So let's go the rocket room!"

"Where _Ivan_ is, no doubt?"

"Yes!" Arthur smiled at his brother, though his hand tightened around the guide.

"'_Ivan this, Ivan that_,'" said Arthur mockingly, the smile with no smile in it widening across his face. "Every bloody day, you see him. Even on the bloody weekends, I don't get a break. Either you want to go to Ivan's house, or I have to listen to you rant nonstop about your stupid little friend for two whole days. And it doesn't stop when you go back to school and come home blabbering about what Ivan said or what Ivan did. It's bloody _pathetic_, how you two don't seem to have a _life_ outside each other. Why don't you just get it over with and _marry_ Ivan already, you stupid git? Because if you keep this up, no one's going to want to have anything to do with you besides me, _me,_ the one who protects you and looks out for you! But of course it's too much for me to ask to have some alone time with you, to do what** I** want to do! _Ungrateful little brat!_"

Other museum guests were turning their heads at the spectacle, gaping, many of whom started whispering disapprovingly amongst themselves. Panting, Arthur caught his breath, glowering daggers at his little brother, who was staring at the floor, fists tightly balled up, skin deathly white.

Silence. Then, the anger slowly drained out of Arthur, like water through a sieve, and the rage on his face sank into a horrified sort of sadness. His heart and breathing rates quietly decelerated, and now _regret_ was grating itself against his bones, its perpetual rhythm an aghast _what have I done, what have I done, what have I done_ instead of scrapes and squeals. He mentally struck himself.

If he'd caught anyone talking to Alfred the way he just had, he would have killed them. He would have bloody _killed them. _

Alfred said nothing. Arthur anxiously bent down to his little brother's level, and shook his shoulders; the child did nothing. He just continued to stare at the floor, biting his lip.

"Al?" asked Arthur anxiously. "Al, I...I didn't...look, why don't we...why don't we go to the rocket room, hmm? Would you like that? Or to the model plane exhibit?"

Still nothing. Arthur bit the inside of his mouth so hard it hurt. All the love and adoration reserved in his heart for Alfred were constricting him, as if someone had put a straitjacket around his heart. "Alfred...?"

He wouldn't say he was sorry, because that would be admitting that he was _wrong_, the same as claiming that he didn't mind Ivan's constant presence and influence, which was a particularly bothersome stain.

But he _was_ sorry, sorry for hurting Alfred-_no one_, including himself, was _ever_ allowed to hurt Alfred-and he was sorry that he had told Alfred to marry Ivan, because he would never, ever mean that, not when there was no one in the world who could protect Alfred the way he could, because he was Alfred's knight, his defender, the one who loved him best and the one for whom he'd kept a dusty decoder ring underneath his pillow for several years. "Al, c'mon. You know I don't-"

Arthur had tried to take hold of Alfred's face so that the little boy would look at him, but his brother just cringed and swatted at him, leaving behind a small handprint on the stunned boy's cheek. Never, ever, had Alfred struck him.

"You're MEAN, Arthur! Mean, mean, mean!" he cried. "You always are so mean! I don't like you anymore! I DON'T LIKE YOU!"

And with that, Alfred had sprinted out of the exhibit, fighting back tears. Arthur gazed at him for a split second blankly, lost in another universe before reality slammed him back down to Earth and rattled his bones. He chased after his brother, huffing and puffing as he narrowly avoided knocking over a display case.

"Alfred! Alfred, come back!" More people were gawking, and Alfred just kept running towards the stairs, but before he could speed up them, Arthur tackled him, sending the two to the floor with a loud THUD.

"Alfred! Alfred!" cried Arthur, wrapping his arms around the squirming child even as he kicked at his older brother. "Shhh, stop, calm down, calm down! Everything's okay, everything's okay!" _Everything has to be okay because you just said the impossible and you need to take it back right now right now RIGHT NOW or I'll die, I'll die, I'll die._ "Don't cry..."

"'m not crying!" Alfred protested, scrubbing at his eyes. "Go away!"

"Never." Arthur tugged his angry little brother close and tried to kiss him on the forehead, but Alfred just scrubbed at his head and made a face as if he could erase the kiss. He'd never done that before. Sighing, Arthur made apologetic faces at the patrons looking their way and tugged Alfred away from the stairs. "Look, I'm going to make this better, okay?" he glanced at the large clock overhead. "Look, it's almost lunch...why don't I just take you to the cafeteria and get you an orange smoothie, huh? I know you like them."

Alfred just sniffed and looked at his brother wearily. How very much like Arthur, to try and balm wounds over with food instead of apologies. He managed a reluctant, sullen nod, and Arthur squeezed him tightly.

"Good boy," said Arthur kindly. He led the boy to the cafeteria, and looked for the Orange Julius stand. "Ah, there it is. I'll be right back. You stay right here, is that clear?"

"Mmmm..."

"Alfred." Arthur was losing his patience. The boy sighed and nodded.

"Yes Arthur." Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and headed off.

Alfred just looked at his retreating back for a moment before a thought struck him, and a small smile appeared on his face.

Arthur told him to stay here, but he didn't say how LONG Alfred had to stay there. Until Arthur came back? Two hours? Two seconds? How in the world was he supposed to know?

And so, with Arthur none the wiser, Alfred sped out of the cafeteria as fast as his little legs could carry him, eyes scanning the sea of patrons. To his relief, it didn't take him _very_ long to find his target, who was waiting patiently alone outside the bathroom. Alfred immediately ran to him.

At the sound of familiar footsteps, Ivan turned and smiled, purple eyes glowing with pleasure. "Ah, Alfred! I am happy to see you! Where...where is Arthur?" he asked, looking curiously over Alfred's shoulder. "Did you give him the slip?"

Alfred bent over, hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. "Y...yeah. C'mon, Ivan," he said, tugging on the boy's hand. "Let's go."

Ivan's voice came out in a squeak. "Go? But...go where?" he asked, looking anxiously about him. "T-Toris is in the bathroom, he told me to wait here-"

"Yeah." That winning smile flashed onto Alfred's face again. "But he didn't say how long you had to wait, did he?"

Ivan just stared at him, awestruck.

A minute later, the two boys were racing as fast as they could out the doors, slowing only when a security guard frowned at them.

* * *

**Oh, dear. This might not end very prettily, mmm?**

**Okay people, I realize those reading this story not just for the fluff probably have some questions about the storyline.**

**One**: How did Arthur and Alfred pay for their museum trip? Well, I'm gonna say that either the director of the children's home took pity on them, the trip was free, or something or other. The Jones' children have their parents' inheritance. It isn't much, especially since it's split between the three of them, but I doubt a measly ten bucks is much of a cut out of it. How did Artie buy the stupid shake? You're looking WAY too much into this, hon.

**Two**: Why the hell didn't you go into more detail with the Jones parents' demise? Because at the time I was more focused on introducing Ivan, who is central to the plot. I glossed over a lot of things because of character development. I dropped the ball. Get off of me—I'm a poor college student still getting her edumucation!

**Three**: Is it really legal to separate siblings that way in the foster care system? The answer is yes, if the state worker in charge of the case gives the okay. Alfred and Arthur were put into a halfway house of sorts because they needed a place immediately and their social worker didn't want to uproot the boys' lives any more than they already had been. Instead of looking for someone willing to take the boys outside of town, the social worker had the boys stay in the local area, per their request.

**Three and a Half**: I wish the Braginskis had taken them in! Believe you me, Mrs. Braginski wanted to. But she's a single mom with three kids and she's struggling to make ends meet. And for reasons unknown to me, Arthur wouldn't have been so chipper with the idea.

**Four**: How could an adorable little boy like Alfred not immediately find a foster home when he's like one of those sad little kittens you want to take home so badly? Because that cute little cat has a big mean Momma kitty who'll bite your hand if you get too close to little kitty. Alfred and Arthur are known in the foster system as a "package deal." You get one of them, you get them both. And Arthur believes that he takes care of Al the best, so he's contemptuous of all caregivers. You saw how he was with his Mom and Dad-even they weren't good enough to get the job done right!

**Well, that's definitely enough blathering on my part. Farewell, my lovelings! Until next time! ;)**


	5. Runaway, Part II

Chapter Five: Runaway, Part II

**Really hope you read and enjoy! *Huggles audience* As always, your opinions are very much appreciated! Thank you!  
**

**~*oOo*~**

* * *

_"It would be really, really good for him, you know," the woman said gently, flipping through the case file. "If you were to show your support…I really think Alfred would be okay with making this transition."_

_If looks could kill, the social worker would almost certainly be impaled on a weathervane; Arthur narrowed his angry green eyes, heart burning with hatred. Horror. Hatred. Horror. _

**_"No."_**_ Miss Seychelles frowned, and tried again._

_"Arthur, you would see him at school every day, like you do Matthew…" and I heard from your teacher that you'd been handling the transition without one of your brothers well now. It wouldn't be a _definite_ adoption—Mr. Oxenstierna and his partner just want to foster Alfred before advancing to any permanent settle—"_

_Arthur fell on his knees and started screaming. He screamed, and screamed, and Miss Seychelles' pleas for him to collect himself were fraught. He hated her, hated her, hated her, hated more than he hated the Braginskis, hated her so much he thought his soul would burst into flames._

_"Nooo…." He howled, kicking her arms away. "Noooo! You promised you wouldn't separate us! YOU PROMISED!"_

_Miss Seychelles' eyes were full of pity, and she tried to wrap her arms around the writhing, squirming boy. "Just calm down, sweetheart, just calm down….no one's taking anybody away…"_

**"Liar! Pig! Witch**!" _Arthur shrieked before he sprinted out of the office, face livid as he rushed up the stairs like lightning, to the room where the one thing he could give a damn about was._

_Alfred was on the floor, playing with his stuffed bunny when Arthur wrenched open the door and burst in like a storm, chest heaving, eyes wild like a feral child's. The confused child immediately stood up, thumbing his bunny's ear as was his wont when nervous. "Artie….what?"_

_At the sound of the soft voice, Arthur seemed to relax a little. Still panting, he nonetheless collected himself and went over to the drawer he shared with his brother, impatiently digging out his clothes. _

_"Grab your things, Alfred." The nine year old reconsidered. "No. Get enough things to fill your backpack, and that's it. I don't think we can carry it all with us."_

_"But..." Alfred's confused eyes lit up with hope. "Artie! Does someone want to foster us? Or maybe even adopt us?"_

_Arthur stood up, wheeled around and seized his little brother's shoulders, crashing the scared boy into a nearby wall. One of them was shaking violently; or perhaps that was the two of them. _

_"No. Miss Seychelles wants some weird guy and his_ boyfriend _to come and take you away. Far, far away from me, where we can't see any each other anymore and you have to live on a farm and live with creepy people." _

_Alfred froze, and Arthur could almost hear his heart stop in his chest. _

_"B—but Miss…"_

_"You can't trust Miss Seychelles!" cried out Arthur, frantically shaking his sobbing little brother. "She's one of _them, _she doesn't know _us, _what_ we _want! I won't let them take you to anywhere scary, so we'll run far away where they can't find us!"_

_Without a word of protest, Alfred immediately bent and seized his little red backpack, holding it open like a trick-or-treater as Arthur hastily packed their toothbrushes inside. _

~*oOo*~

"Arthur's so mean," complained Alfred, sucking on the cherry red tip of his SuperDuperHero popsicle, still fuming. "Not like Mattie at all. I mean, Mattie cries a lot 'n stuff, but…"

Ivan just nodded sympathetically, his lips and tongue a soft violet as he enjoyed his grape popsicle. The two boys had discovered an ice cream truck shortly after fleeing the museum, scraped up their spare change, and were now sitting in the sunshine near the fountain outside the museum, feeling pleased and independent. Ivan licked his fingers. "Natalia keeps trying to make me play marriage," he grumbled, watching some white pigeons take flight against the blue, blue sky. "It's gross and weird and _stupid_. Mama just tells me to play nice with her, but she is a baby. A very scary baby that screams really loudly when you don't give her what you want that instant!"

"Ewwww, Artie did the weird marriage thing once when we were little," said Alfred, making a face, "'m never goin' to get actually married. Girls are gross."

"Gross," agreed Ivan. "Except Katyusha and my mother. They are not gross."

"No, not them," agreed Alfred, munching past the boring white part of the popsicle and getting to the blue, slurping at it happily. "But let's never marry anyone and let's not get pushed around by our big or little sibs anymore! I say we become independent."

"'Independent,'" repeated Ivan. "I like that word."

Alfred nodded happily and threw his stick into a nearby bin. "Me too. So let's be independent today and do whatever we want to. Like, we could hop a bus and ride into…uh…someplace cool. Like Texas or California or…France. France is a state, right?"

Ivan nervously looked at the sprawling city around them. "Uh, Alfred? W-where do we go, then?" He didn't want to sound cowardly, but there were so many places and people and directions and buses and…and…

Alfred swallowed. He must have been thinking the same thing.

"Buuut we could also just stay at the museum. Because we want to," he said quickly. "Not 'cause we're scared or anything. We've been lookin' forward to this for years, now! I say we go look at the big model planes and rockets and see all the fun stuff!"

Ivan exhaled in relief as the two cautiously walked across the street. "Good! That will be fun. But um, what do we do about Toris and Arthur?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Iv. If we run into them they'll probably get angry and ask 'where have you been?' And then we'll get mad and ask them where have THEY been and then they'll be surprised and think we lost each other at the same time so we cancel each other out and no one will get in trouble. We just have to meet up front with everyone at one, when the museum closes and we all go home."

Ivan didn't think this was such a good idea, but he supposed it wasn't too bad, considering it was one of Alfred's. "But we are supposed to stay with our buddies…"

"I'm your buddy and you're my buddy! C'mon, Ivan! Let's go look at the Sputnik model!"

Grinning, the two raced around at back to the life-sized outdoor exhibits.

~*oOo*~

_They had packed as much as they could, and Arthur had grabbed all the money he owned—ten dollars and thirty-nine cents—before they snuck out of a back window. Alfred held on tightly to Arthur's hand as the two waited tensely for a bus. Alfred asked where they were going and Arthur said it didn't matter, so long as they were together. Alfred had thought that was a fine thing to say, but he didn't like the idea of heading nowhere at all. He imagined nowhere would have lots of cacti and tumbleweeds, which would be fine only so long as there were cowboys too. _

_Alfred trustingly boarded the first bus Arthur had chosen, the one that went out of town, and watched the world rush past them on the windows in a tangled blur, wondering which brother was holding on to the other like a teddy bear. _

~*oOo*~

For two boys at a museum, they certainly enjoyed themselves for the next two hours, time being just a spastic blur around them. True to form, Ivan had taken dozens of pictures, scurrying up to many museum visitors and asking them to take photographs of the two boys next to enormous aircrafts and rockets, leaning against them and trying to look cool and reserved rather than giggly and excited. They gave up after awhile and soon just started competing on who could make the most hilarious face.

They tried to steer clear of their fellow classmates, who would see them alone together and might think something was wrong. They especially tried to avoid teachers, who would see them without their buddies and know something was wrong. Alfred bought a bouncy ball at the gift shop with a rocket in it and the two shook hands with a real airline pilot, who was giving tours of aircraft carriers and explaining (in a fashion so much more interesting than Artie's!) how things worked. The boys giggled at funny words and phrases the pilots used, though they wondered why so many guests laughed at the word _cockpit._

They raced up and down the steps, because they could, and retreated outside to eat lunch underneath the bright sun, which sparkled through the leaves of the tree they sat under. (Ivan graciously shared his with Alfred.) They looked through several telescopes the museum had on display and of talked of which planet they would visit first, and of the outer space life they would greet.

Finally, when the two were spent, and upon realizing they only had a half hour or so to go before the bus came, Alfred gave Ivan a boost into a model P47 Thunderbolt, and Ivan tugged him in when no one was looking. The seats were surprisingly soft; once the two got tired of pretending to shoot down enemies, the exhausted boys drifted off to sleep, even as security guards rushed past them, urgently speaking into their walkie-talkies.

When Alfred awoke, lazy rays of sunlight were making the dust particles in the air glitter and sparkle as they floated. The drowsy little boy enjoyed the sight for a second before he turned over in his bed, snuggling his face into his brother's neck, which seemed much smaller than normal for whatever reason.

His eyes snapped open, and Alfred immediately found himself much more aware of his bearings. He wasn't lying in bed with Arthur, but curled up on a velvet seat with Ivan inside a model plane.

But instead of the sound of chattering museum patrons buzzing in his ears, the only thing Alfred heard was silence. Deathly silence.

Alfred's heart nearly stopped.

_Oh, crud._

Alfred immediately scooted away from his fellow and started shaking the still-sleeping boy, who was trying to curl up into a warm ball. "Ivan! Ivan!" Alfred hissed, eyes a. "Waaaaake up…."

The little Russian yawned and buried his face deeper into Alfred's shoulder. "Mama, Mama," he murmured drowsily. "Just a few more minutes and I will be out of bed like lightning, so please let me sleep…"

Alfred braced himself to pinch his friend awake, carefully checking Ivan's watch as he did so. His heart sank.

He wasn't very good at telling time on non-digital watches, but even he could tell it was half past five. Alfred poked his head out of the airplane and confirmed; there were no patrons walking about, no voices.

Just dead silence.

The museum was closed.

~*oOo*~

_It wasn't long before they were caught. While they wandered the streets looking for a good place to sleep, a policeman had found them and brought them back._

_Oh, they'd put up a decent enough fight; Arthur had scratched and scrabbled at the affronted man like an angry cat, and Alfred had ran with all the speed he'd reserved for his father's cheerful "Dinner's ready!" call when they ate hamburgers off the grill. But they were caught and driven back, and Miss Seychelles had had to plead with the officer, who had listened to Arthur's rantings and seemed convinced that Miss S was nothing less than Cruella DeVille. "Please, sir, Arthur just overacted, we were only discussing Alfred's potential transition to a foster family…." _

_"But why not Arthur, too?" argued the man. Alfred remembered that he had shifted in his seat outside Miss S's office, Arthur sleeping next to him, exhausted by the long day's events. _

_The woman had sighed, as if she'd had to explain this all too many times to all too many people._

_"Sir, we've tried," she said desperately. "We've tried twice and both times the guardians couldn't wean Arthur off the role as a parent. Alfred can get him out of his shell every now and again, but otherwise he's not a warm child."_

_"Nonsense. All kids are warm to some degree. Even the roughest of the bunch are. I've got foster kids myself."_

_"Arthur's different. He's such a smart, well-mannered boy most of the time, but if he's not allowed to sit next to Alfred at the table, he pitches a fit. He won't bond with any foster parents and he doesn't try to make friends, though lord knows I've tried putting him in so many playgroups. The boy is antisocial and very hostile to prospective parents who want kind little children like Alfred and Feliciano."_

_"So, are you gonna try and move Alfred?" asked the police officer. Silence. Alfred remembered pricking his ears._

_A resigned puff of air. "I don't think I can. I have to put this incident in his file, which won't do Arthur any favors. If I try to make the move official and move Alfred without Arthur, I'm fairly certain all hell would break loose. Arthur would go ballistic and we would have more social services over here. In the end, it would mean a lot of paperwork and trouble."_

_"Huh." Alfred saw the shadow of the policeman lean its head back from behind the door. "You know, that kid…Arnold? Seems like a pretty selfish, controlling ass to me. You might wanna get that kid a psychiatrist."_

_"He's a boy who's been hurt very badly very early," said Miss Seychelles reprovingly. "And he DOES love Alfred so, I've never seen a brother so loving or devoted. Oh, if only these parents were interested in two instead of one!...But there's no alternative. I'll call Berwald tomorrow and ask him if he'd be interested in another little boy named Peter."_

_The bottom had dropped out of Alfred's stomach. _

~*oOo*~

The 'adventure' was no longer any fun. They walked quickly, their echoing footsteps nearly explosive in the empty halls. Neither of them felt like whooping or singing or skipping, though they would have loved to have done so in less difficult times.

"Maybe we _should _run away," said Alfred nervously as the two made their way down the steps, hand in hand. "They'll kill us. I say we run off to Disney World."

Ivan snorted, though without any humor. "Alfred, if you knew my Mama's temper, you would want to flee with me back home in Moscow where she cannot find us. But knowing Mama," he added. "She would likely find us if we flew off to Siberia."

That didn't sound particularly reassuring. Then, another horrible thought entered Alfred's thoughts. "Oh, man, Iv, what if we're stuck inside here? What if the doors are locked from the inside out?"

Ivan had not thought of that. His purple eyes filled with tears, and Alfred immediately grabbed his friend's arm. "D-dude, Iv, don't cry!" he exclaimed, hoping he sounded particularly heroic. "If it is, I'll just break the door down. I'm your superhero, remember?"

Ivan gave him a watery smile, and stayed close to Alfred as they reached the doors. Amazingly enough, they opened. They both let out audible sighs of relief.

But now, the two stood outside the museum in the late afternoon, very much alone. Alfred checked his pockets.

"Maybe we can ride the city bus alone…" he squeaked uncertainly. "Uhhh….Ivan, d'you have any money left?"

Ivan did not. A lump of terror formed in Alfred's throat, and the tears were welling up in Ivan's eyes again, so Alfred just cleared his throat and said reassuringly "Well, let's just find a police guy to take us home. I heard Artie saying that they do that."

"Really?"

Alfred nodded. "Let's go across the street and look for a cop car."

The two held hands before crossing the road, and crossed a corner. They had only walked for a little while when they discovered a cluster of police cars nearby. Alfred turned to give his relieved friend a cocky smile.

"See? Whaddid I say? Wow, there are lotsa them…d'you think they've caught a bank robber or something?"

Ivan leaned forward and squinted. "I can't tell…looks like there are lots of people there, though. Let's find out."

The two started walking again, but as they got closer Ivan stopped dead, his pale skin turning an even starker shade of alabaster. "Ohhhh, no," he moaned, free hand flying to his mouth. He swallowed heavily, before turning to look at his best friend, expression torn between relief and terror. "Oh, no. That is my Mama, and my sisters! And…" Ivan peered forward again. "Who is making all of that racket? Oh. It is…."

Alfred felt as though he'd swallowed a rock. Though the two were some distance away, it was dead obvious to Alfred just who precisely was making a scene, though he hopelessly prayed that it wasn't who he thought it was….

Ashen-faced and struggling violently in the grasp of two policeman, Arthur was shouting some half-inarticulate things that Alfred was fairly certain he'd get in serious trouble for repeating at school. One of the man was trying to talk politely at the young man, but sternly; Arthur swatted at the policeman's hand, expression murderous, almost insane. He attempted to duck around the uniformed men back towards the museum, but two of them held the eldest Jones' child back, struggling to subdue him while he fought and kicked like a tortured prisoner. One of the officers swore.

"Sonofabitch son, the museum's closed, we can't let you back in there—"

"Anyway, forget you bloody chumps!" Arthur all but shrieked, voice clotted with tears and sheer _pain_. "Let me in! Let me back in! I need to find my brother!"

"Brother, brother!" wailed the little girl with the long sandy hair beside him, pulling insistently at a distressed-looking woman's hand. "I want Ivan!" she screamed, kicking at her mother's leg with her little feet in a desperate bid for freedom. "Want Ivan! Want Ivan _now!"_

Matthew just threw his head back and bawled in misery, tears oozing out of his eyes and dripping down his face, despite Francis' attempts to keep them at bay.

The two boys threw harried, panicked looks at each other before they immediately dashed forward.

"Arthur!"

The boy had his face buried in his hands and did not seem to hear. But Matthew perked up almost immediately, and his head turned. Alfred tried again.

"Arthur, Arthur, it's us!"

Wheeling around as if struck by lightning, Arthur immediately whipped around, agony on his face turning to elation at the sight of the two little boys rushing towards the odd little group on the street corner.

With a wordless exclamation, the boy immediately wrestled free from the policeman's hold and sprinted towards Alfred and Ivan, green eyes almost wild. Alfred raced forward to meet him, Ivan at his heels. His sisters were crying out in relief, and his mother was saying something in Russian Alfred did not understand.

But all thoughts vanished when the two crashed into each other, and Arthur's arms wound around him like two snakes as they crushed him to his chest, which was shaking wildly. Alfred gasped for air as his older brother's voice ripped with sobs, sobs Alfred hadn't heard the like of since they'd put their parents into the ground.

"Oh, you—"Arthur sounded angry, furious, as though he wanted to want to shout a dozen different insults and indecisive as to which one he'd use first. "You-you-oh, blast it, _you're here_. I was so scared. So scared…" His voice broke and Arthur immediately slammed his chin atop of Alfred's head, immediately erasing all distance between them.

Oh, what a _great _idea his adventure had turned out to be.

Face burning with shame and eyes tearing up, Alfred buried his head in his brother's shoulder and burst into tears, inhaling the familiar scent of tea and leaves as his brother immediately made soothing sounds, rocking the two of them back and forth. Arthur's hands were still shaking.

Mattie caught up to them and pawed desperately at his twin, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck—it was the only part of him he could reach—and hugged him tightly; Alfred gagged, and his skin complexion turned from a powdery blue to a dark blue quickly.

"Lemme hug him, lemme hug him, lemme hug him!" Matthew whimpered, releasing Alfred and letting some air pour back into his twin's lungs before he managed to pull Alfred slightly away from a _very _reluctant Arthur, who sent him a nasty look. Alfred seized his twin in a hug as Matthew started to cry again. Alfred sniffled, and used a fist to wipe away at his wet eyes.

"M-M-Mattie, you crybaby, y-you're makin' me c-cry too," he murmured as his twin continued to sob. "I'm right here, I'm okay…"

Matthew pulled back to stare at him, and then most unexpectedly punched Alfred in the stomach, which didn't dry up the waterworks any. "D-D-Don't do that ever again! Ever! You're in BIG trouble buddy! I was so scared! So scared!" Arthur said nothing, but pulled both twins into a tight hug, as if he were trying to melt them into his own persona. Alfred smiled tearfully.

"I know…I know…"

"Ivan! Oh, Ivan!"

Alfred turned somewhat awkwardly in his cage-like embrace with his two brothers to see that Ivan was being crushed by his own family. Mrs. Braginski was anxiously checking her son over for bruises while Katyusha had the boy sandwiched in-between them in a tight embrace. Little Natalia repeatedly hopped up and down, kissing every bit of Ivan she could reach.

~*oOo*~

Of course, the cuddle-fest could and would not last forever. Upon confirming that her son was alright, Mrs. Braginski had started to scold her son so badly in Russian that the little boy had hung his head, tears dripping down his long nose. It hadn't helped that a police officer began chiding Ivan and Alfred too, for all the trouble they caused, the distress they caused poor Toris, who had felt like a failure and gone home sobbing wildly, for their sheer irresponsibility and irrationality, of doing something so completely dangerous. Francis criticized Alfred for making Matthew cry all day, and Arthur started cluck-cluck-clucking non-stop, till the boy's tears had started up again.

When it looked like the lecturing had stopped at last from both sides, Ivan turned around to meet Alfred with pink eyes and an angry scowl.

"I hate you."

The bottom of Alfred's stomach was immediately torn away from him; he opened his mouth, but to say what, he did not know, because his mind was completely blank.

"My Mama says I'm to be grounded for two weeks," said Ivan tearfully, rubbing at his eyes. "But Arthur won't punish you. Of course you'd suggest that we do such a dumb thing, of course you'd make ME go along with it! You have no parents, so there are never any consequences for people like YOU! I don't want to be friends with you anymore, Alfred Jones!"

And with that, Ivan was led away by his mother from the ear, two sisters trailing closely behind. Alfred's knees wobbled underneath him like gelatin. Upon affirming that Alfred was alright, Francis cleared his throat and took his brother away to his mother's car, who was now crying again.

Staring blankly at the scene before him, Arthur uncertainly put a hand on Alfred's shoulder, who didn't seem to notice.

"Ivan…?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ivan?"

But the boy did not turn around. The tears dripped to the pavement, and the policemen uncertainly inched back as Alfred began to cry harder than he'd had for a long, long time.

"F—fine!" he exclaimed, as the Braginskis were opening their car doors. "F-fine! I don't wanna be traitors with a dirty traitor like you, anyways! Goodbye, and good riddance!"

The car doors slammed shut; the vehicle moved away, and suddenly there wasn't anything in the world other than Arthur's starchy shirt, Arthur's hands, Arthur's voice. Alfred held onto him like a koala as Arthur carried him to the police car, grunting under his brother's weight.

As the car began to drive back to the children's home, Arthur did his best to stifle his brother's heartbroken whimpers, caressing his naturally untidy hair and stroking his back lovingly, again rocking the two back and forth, back and forth in their time old comfort ritual.

What had happened today was Ivan's fault. He was a bad, bad influence on his brother. If it hadn't been for Ivan, the two brothers never would have fought. If it weren't for that brat, Alfred would have forgiven Arthur instead of running off, leaving him chilled to the bone with terror when he'd turned around with the shake and had discovered Alfred was_ gone_.

And he'd hurt Alfred. Well, at the very least, the horrible boy was now a moot point; he'd shown his true colors, and while Arthur wanted to strangle him for smashing his brother's heart, he supposed this would have happened sooner rather than later.

Alfred sniffled against Arthur's throat, and Arthur hummed slightly, kissing Alfred on the cheek and was pleased when his brother didn't swipe it away like last time.

"…I hate that stupid Ivan," he said hoarsely, his voice cracking. "Hate him. I never wanna see him again. He's not my friend anymore."

"Then don't worry about him," soothed Arthur, putting a hand on the back of his little brother's head. "You're safe now. Shhh. You're safe now, and you never have to think about Ivan again if you don't have to. And you don't."

Alfred withdrew from the hug, summery blue eyes struck with terror.

"Artie…Artie, I've lost my best friend," he said in distress. "What am I gonna do? My best friend h-hates me!" he sobbed. "Hates me!"

"I don't hate you." Arthur hugged Alfred tightly until the boy relaxed back into his embrace. "Even if you don't have Ivan, I'll always remain, right? Isn't that what I told you today, what I tell you every day?"

"…yeah." The answer was muffled, but it came. Arthur smiled, and leaned his head back.

He wouldn't repeat this day for the world, but at least some good had come of it.

~*oOo*~

_And so, while little boys and girls like Feliciano and Lili were snatched up like hotcakes, Alfred and Arthur continued to live in the in-between house. Potential parents were often interested in him, but there wasn't much prospect of him being adopted, what with Arthur's surliness and overprotectiveness. Still, Artie did his absolute best to make up for the love of a parent, being as fussy and overbearing as he could be. Alfred appreciated his effort but very often felt the ache for a parent's arms to shield him from the world and keep him safe._

_But he couldn't remember what that was like, or at least he didn't think he could. Memories of Mama and Papa were slowly growing dim, and the most protective and loving hugs he could remember had always come from Arthur. Maybe some from Mrs. Braginski or Katyusha every now and again; even some from Ivan. When Alfred hugged Matthew, he was the one doing the holding, the soothing. _

_But it was usually Arthur holding him, and they both knew it. He thought Arthur might be a little smug about it, but he doubted that was the case._

~*oOo*~

Alfred and Ivan had been a pair at school, practically inseparable. But when the two came back to class on Monday, it was if they were strangers. Ivan did not greet Alfred or ask for help while the students worked in their English workbooks. Alfred did not cheerily ask Ivan if he'd seen the latest episode of _Preteen Genetically-Altered Samurai Duckies_ or ask for help during Math. They did not sit together at lunch. They did not pick each other immediately as reading partners during Accelerated Reader.

Indifference turned to hostility; if Alfred's pencil happened to roll off his desk onto Ivan's, the Russian would simply flick it off so that it fell. In retaliation, if Ivan's foot ever brushed against Alfred's, Alfred kicked it.

At recess, they gave each other the cold shoulder. Alfred hung around his brothers now, chattering with them while Ivan either sat alone on the picnic tables or wandered around the playground like a lost child. Soon, Alfred befriended a young Japanese boy named Kiku, one Arthur actually didn't seem to mind hanging around them. Ivan watched them, bit his nails short and ragged, and assumed it was because Kiku seemed to have a good dozen friends with whom he liked to hang out with.

It seemed Alfred was determined to prove that Ivan's words meant nothing to him; that he could have as many friends as he wanted. And boy, could he ever; Alfred F. Jones, who was once just one of many second-graders in their class became THE second-grader, the one with the wittiest retorts in class, the favorite for kickball—Ivan discovered that Alfred had modestly been holding back what he could truly do because of _him_—the one the girls most fawned over. He had the best lines, the charisma, the basic good looks, all the charm a child can possess. He drew people to him with a magnetic sort of quality, made people feel _good_ and _important _and _accepted _near him. He was the one everyone wanted to invite to their birthday parties, the one everyone wanted to be their reading partner, the one everyone quieted down to listen to.

And now, Ivan was just a shadow.

The poor boy had felt sick with dread on the car ride home from the museum after his temper tantrum, had cried himself to sleep that horrible night. He'd wanted to blame Alfred because there was no one else to blame.

Besides himself, of course. Hadn't he chosen to follow Alfred, as he'd always done? And while Ivan had a family to bring him home and kiss him and draw up baths and warm meals for him, Alfred only ever had Arthur.

He'd completely ruined everything; all those years of friendship were gone, down the drain. He'd intended to beg for Alfred's forgiveness first thing Monday morning, but upon seeing Alfred's coolness, he'd been desperate to replicate it, forgetting that's HE'D caused it. He needed to show Alfred he didn't care, that he wasn't a spineless baby who would run back to Alfred after what he'd said.

But now, Ivan had no one. He'd broke on the third day, had tried to apologize to Alfred, but the American had only looked at him as if seeing empty space, though his nose had wrinkled slightly. He'd left countless notes on Alfred's desk, pleading forgiveness, but the boy threw them all away without reading them.

No one wanted to play with Ivan on the playground.

No one saved Ivan a seat on the bus.

No one wanted to sit next to him at lunch.

And so, as Alfred grew more and more liked, at the end of second grade, Alfred had everybody and Ivan had—

No one.


	6. The Mochi and the Half Chick

~*Chapter Six: The Mochi and the Half-Chick*~

***Sniffs, looks up from drink* Man, last chapter was tough! Poor boys. I really am a bad person, aren't I? **

**In this chapter, we fast-forward a bit, get a bit of mochitalia and the authoress demonstrates her (extremely, extremely limited) knowledge of online games. Heh…*Shoulders sink* Sorry, folks. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always very welcome! And if you're interested in the mochitalia strips, I advise you look them up. ;) **

**Hetalia isn't mine. But Ivan's attempts to make a valentine are very much my own; I stink at arts and crafts! *Cries again* **

~*oOo*~

* * *

It's a sad state of affairs you're in when the one creature you have to talk to is a little piece of white rubber and plastic.

Eleven year old Ivan Braginski quietly turned around his Mochi!Pet in his large hands, almost dropping the little toy and had to fumble to to keep it from slipping out of his hands. He squeezed it very carefully, worried he might break it. Ivan broke a lot of things these days, though he certainly didn't _mean_ to—his hands and feet were growing at an alarming rate, and it felt as though he were in some large, lumbering body over which he had very little control. He was forever tripping over his own feet in gym, which was one of the reasons why no one ever wanted Ivan to be on their team.

He also snapped a great number of pencils by accidentally gripping too tightly, which gave the class the impression that not only was Ivan a scary, hulking bully, he was also particularly stupid. But he wouldn't break his poor Mochi!Pet, though he desperately wanted _something_ to hold onto tightly. He made himself relax, and opened his palm so that he could get a better look at his Russian mochi.

The newest fad amongst the fifth-graders was the MochiMochi toys. MochiMochi were little clumps of white rubber meant to look like anthropomorphic rice balls, the idea being that the characters were to somewhat resemble different cultures. There was a Mochi for each and every country, and they all had little plastic buttons on their undersides that, when pressed, would make the toy's home flags pop out of the mochi.

They could also sing their national anthem, bounce, and each Mochi came with a certificate of authenticity and a code you could type in for MochiMochi World online, where your Mochi pet was given a digital counterpart you could take care of. Mochi had become so predominant at school that teachers threatened to confiscate Mochi on sight, and so everyone kept theirs in their pockets so that they could play with them during recess.

Smiling sadly in his seat, Ivan's thumb traced over Russia Mochi's big nose. He'd wanted a Mochi so desperately when the toys first started appearing at school, though his mother had complained about them—"_What in the world are they supposed to be? How does a pile of rice constitute a county? It makes no sense!" _He hoped that if he followed the fad, some people might want to talk with him, even play with him.

But Ivan remained ostracized. He didn't know if it were him or just his Mochi—Ivan had bought the fairly unpopular Russia Mochi rather than one of the more popular Sealand or Denmark Mochis. Russia Mochi looked like the moon in a Mother Goose picture book, a great big round white ball bigger than the rest of the Mochi, complete with a large nose and a shy smile. He'd felt bad for the Mochi when he saw it, who had to watch on a shelf as people took its fellows away like no tomorrow while it remained untouched, unexamined. It'd also seemed right that he buy the Mochi of his homeland.

He pressed one of Russia Mochi's buttons and listened to the toy softly sing the National Anthem of the Russian Federation. He pressed the other and watched the two little white, blue, and red flags pop out. So similar to the American Mochi's flag….

Deep down, Ivan had the sinking feeling that even if he'd picked up the cuddly-looking Italy Mochi or the tough Hungary Mochi or the sweet-looking Lichtenstein Mochi, he'd still wind up friendless. Alfred's popularity had started to wane shortly after he had gotten glasses and his voice started to waver a bit from the early beginnings of puberty, but he still had plenty of people he could hang around with. He might have been ridiculously thin—how was it that a boy who well-earned the reputation of having a bottomless pit for a stomach remained so skinny?—but he was funny and likeable.

And Ivan was still alone. The boy crossed the empty classroom to look outside, where everyone was gathered for recess. Snow was drifting on the chilly February breeze, soft and sweet like cherry blossom. Ivan could make out his old friend gathered by a cluster of youngsters as he animatedly told a story, his face flushed pink and bright from cold.

Swallowing heavily, Ivan placed his forehead on the cool glass and watched enviously as Alfred swung around a younger student in his arms, laughing. Oh, how he envied Alfred's ability to make friends so easily! Everyone was frightened of Ivan, especially the younger students!

Blinking at the sudden wetness at his eyes, Ivan impatiently wiped it away and slowly trudged back to his chair, deep in thought.

He missed Alfred, missed him _terribly_. The ache for his old friendship had never left him, regardless of what his sisters had said would happen, and if his courage would allow him, why, he'd stride right up to Alfred on the playground, shove aside the sea of acquaintances in his wake, look Alfred in the eye, and say-

_'Say what?'_ thought the Russian bitterly. '_I'll do anything if you'll be my friend again? I miss you so much?_' He resisted the urge to chuck his Mochi across the room.

Three years had gone by, and Ivan longed to reconnect with Alfred more than anything. Even if it were not the close relationship he had once had—that was too much to hope for—he would have settled for _anything_, anything, just so long as Alfred's eyes would not skim over him like he were nothing.

Considering the fact that the countless letters that Ivan had sent Alfred begging for his forgiveness had all been thrown away or returned unopened, maybe it was hopeless. If he could just get Alfred to talk to him for a moment, even if it meant certain rejection, that would be enough!

His eyes wandered to the nearby calendar, and traveled over the heart planted over the fourteenth. Suddenly, the young Russki's eyes traveled back to the heart, his own starting to pick up the pace in his chest.

Valentine's Day was next week. What if he told Alfred his wish to become friends again while the boy was accepting his vast number of valentines from the class, so that Alfred had no choice but to listen? He didn't know if this would work, but he could at least get his feelings out, though the idea made his insides constrict like a corset. How could he do this without giving his classmates a reason to pick on him more than they already did? There must be a way!

Hopeful, Ivan dug through his desk and took out the cell he normally reserved for emergencies, intending to call his sister at college. He needed advice.

~*oOoOoOo*~

On his home computer later that afternoon, Ivan stared at the profile of his Mochi online, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Mochis earned their health points typically by making friends with other Mochi, and while Ivan had reached out to several of his classmates, no one had returned his Mochi friend requests. Ivan hadn't dared to ask Alfred's American mochi to become his friend, though he'd clicked on his page and discovered that Alfred's online mochi actually _glittered_. He was the only one Ivan knew who had ever achieved Golden Mochi status, which meant that Alfred's mochi had accepted over 100 friend requests from different people on the site. He'd clicked out of his ex-best friend's page quickly, squeezing his awkward and useless mochi so tightly in his hand that it very nearly cracked.

According to the online page, Ivan's mochi was very unhappy. Its violet eyes, which Ivan had customized to look like his own, were miserable and the mochi's health status was currently set on _Dying_ even though Ivan gave the miserable thing data plenty of virtual vodka, the very thing Russia mochi claimed to like best on his character profile. Sighing, Ivan scooted off his chair and fetched the arts and craft supplies, spreading it on the dining room table, remembering his conversation with his sister earlier that day:

_"Privyet, sister," he greeted. He'd heard the college student gasp in alarm._

_"Oh, Ivan! What is the matter? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Where is Mama? Where is Natalya? Are you lost? Is there a police officer nearby? Don't panic, just tell me what's—" _

_"Not an emergency!" he said hastily, warily eyeing the door. "Calm down, big sister, nothing is wrong. I hope all is good…I just need some advice very badly right now."_

_"Oh…" The girl flustered. "What for, Vanya?"_

_"I made mistake with someone and I want to fix it," said Ivan softly. "But I do not think 'sorry' will do. What do I do?"_

_"Is this about Alfred?" his sister asked gently. Ivan's breath hitched. The girl laughed._

_"Well…Vanya, you have tried making friends again, but both of you revert to anger and start calling each other names," she said. "You may not be able to make friends again but I believe you can if you truly make an effort! Valentine's Day is a good day for friends, a good day for love to show its face."_

_Ivan made a face. "But what do I do?"_

_"Perhaps just something small, so you can at least say you tried. In my day, we only bought store-bought valentines for people we didn't particularly consider special. We made cards and poems and little crafts for our good friends so that we could express a little bit of gratitude for them! That may be a nice idea, to make Alfred a valentine, one just for him. Or maybe a craft of some kind. It will maybe make him feel special."_

Ivan twirled a pipe cleaner in his hand. What did he make? Paper flowers? He remembered bringing Alfred real flowers when he was much smaller, but he immediately shied away from the idea; Ivan's stature and friendlessness was cause enough for his heartless classmates to mercilessly mock him. If he acted as if he were like—he didn't know, a lovesick girl like Natalya—he would be destroyed. Not even Mama could convince Ivan to go to school again, to face them again.

He supposed a card was just the best way to go. Hadn't Katyusha said that you gave handmade valentines to the people you really liked? It seemed like a nice idea, much better than giving someone a cheap piece of cardboard folded over. He picked up a piece of red construction paper and proceeded to attempt to cut out a heart. He pulled out the piece of paper and to his disappointment got a circle instead of a heart.

He tried again. He got a diamond.

Then, A rectangle. An oval. What looked like a spade. What also looked like a spade. He tried tracing half a heart, on his paper and cutting it out, but it came out ripped in two. Splendid. He settled for just tracing a full heart and cut it out, but accidentally misspelled a word on it and had to tear the heart up. He thought of writing Alfred a poem, but that seemed also very likely to get him seriously teased, so he tried to write a message that both voiced his feelings and didn't sound desperate. He threw the heart down in distaste and started on another one, only to rip that one too.

He was making good progress on a very nice-looking red and blue valentine on which he'd decided he would later put the Superman S when a voice interrupted his reverie.

"What are you doing, big brother?"

Ivan squawked and very nearly fell out of his seat; seven year old Natalya was staring at him from over the tabletop, drumming on it with her fingertips. Once his heart (Ivan's heart, not the many paper ones bleeding at his feet) stopped shaking somewhat, he returned to his work.

"Nothing."

Boy, if looks could kill, Ivan would be in traction. "It does not look like _nothing_, big brother." Uh-oh. She had noticed the red and pink hearts. Natalya would be on the warpath if she thought she were making a valentine for anyone but her, even Alfred.

Actually, scratch that, Ivan knew she would be _especially angry _if she discovered it was forAlfred, whom she considered long out of the picture by now.

Ivan huffed in annoyance. How he would have liked his little sister to stop breathing down his neck and poking her nose into his business at every opportunity! "It's a project, sister. For class."

"Project?" she all but spat out. Ivan nodded and clutched his valentine close in case Natalya overturned the dining room table. She'd done it before.

"Y-yes. A project. On Valentine's D-day." The pitch of Ivan's voice rose as Natalya's eyes narrowed. How in the world did such a little girl make a face that looked like it could wilt flowers and break glass? "On St. Valentine himself, da? But I will be making many of these hearts for my project, so you may have this one if you like." He reluctantly offered her the heart he'd spent over an hour working on.

The chill in Natalya's eyes thawed just a little and she accepted the pretty valentine, hugging it to her chest.

"Thank you, brother. I shall keep it forever."

"I…" Ivan began, but Natalya skipped away, humming slightly under her breath, still unsmiling. Ivan rolled his eyes. The silly girl was probably going to paste it in her album, would probably be inspired to make more silly wedding invitations for her and her big brother shortly afterward. Well, at least he had his peace in the meantime.

_'Back to square one….'_

Instead of grabbing more red paper, Ivan grabbed a sheet of black and started liberally coating it with specks of gold glitter. He'd ask his mother later on to help him make some chocolate—this was important, and nothing but the best homemade stuff would do.

~*oOo*~

Alfred's valentine and present were tucked securely underneath his arm when Ivan came to school the next day, where Valentines' Day had thrown up on virtually every surface. Ivan carefully maneuvered his way through the pink and white streamers in the halls, continuously ducking underneath the paper cupids the staff had hung up. Sometimes, he really wished he were shorter like everyone else.

"Happy Valentines' Day, Al!"

Ivan turned. Eleven year old Matthew had trotted up to his brother, smiling cheerily as he thrust a candy bar and a card in his brother's hand. "Got you your favorite—a Mars Bar!"

Alfred beamed and gave his brother a tight one-armed hug; Ivan turned his attention back to his locker, trying to ignore the sinking jealousy in he felt in his heart.

"Thanks, broseph," Alfred said, sounding apologetic. "Happy Valentine's Day…hope you like your card. 'snot much, and I'm sorry but…"

"I know you don't have an allowance, Alfred. You don't have to worry about it."

Ivan's purple eyes narrowed as he heard an all-too-familiar cough behind him. He dared not turn around and make himself noticeable, lest the Jones realized he was there. Matthew would give him a sympathetic look, which he hated, Arthur would turn his nose up in the air, which he couldn't stand, and Alfred would ignore him completely, which was excruciating. Still, Ivan turned ever so slightly so that he could see the goings-on out of the corner of his eye.

The eighth grader grandly thrust over a little box towards Alfred. "Here. I know how much you love my cooking, so I made you some cookies yesterday afternoon." He sounded much too pleased with himself. "Be sure not to eat them all at lunch, or you'll get sick."

_'That's not going to be a problem,'_ thought Ivan scathingly. Eating just one of those cookies was probably enough to warrant a stomach pump, and Alfred knew it. Ivan's once best friend gulped as he accepted the present with as much grace as he could muster, though he looked rather like he were accepting an explosive package.

"Uh…thanks, Arthur. I made you a card," he said brightly, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket and handing it to his big brother. "Sorry it's not much. Is there somethin' else you'd like in place of a present?"

"On the contrary Alfred," said the older boy pompously. "I keep every card you give me." Oh, how Ivan longed to give him a good kick in the—"A kiss would be nice, though."

Ivan nearly dropped the chocolate he'd made for Alfred, but the boy had just laughed while Matthew just stared at his feet, ears red.

"Artie, you're so weird!" Arthur looked almost disappointed, much to Ivan's disgust. "And ya didn't even say hey to Mattie this morning!"

"Who?" asked Artie distractedly, wincing when Alfred irritably stomped on his foot. "Ow-ah, yes. Good morning, Matthew. Um, Happy Valentine's Day," he added stiffly.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Arthur," said Matthew softly, warmth gone out of his voice. Ivan shivered as if he felt a cold draft blowing in from the brothers' direction. Gosh, had Matthew and Arthur always been so rigid and formal with each other?

Alfred smiled tightly; Ivan noticed that neither Matthew or Arthur had a valentine for each other.

"So Mattie, are ya comin' over to visit next week?" he asked hopefully. Arthur shrugged.

"You really don't have to if you don't want to," he said pointedly, and Ivan winced. Ouch. Alfred whipped his head around at his elder brother and glared daggers at him.

"Artie, that's so mean! Mattie, he didn't mean it, bad joke and—hey!" Alfred's twin was walking away down the hall. "Mattie, wait!"

The bell rang and Arthur turned away towards his classroom, cool and unrepentant. "See you after class, Alfred."

The boy just looked at him before he hurried after his brother, looking distinctively unhappy. Ivan stood there in the hall rooted to the spot before reality hit him and he slapped himself in the forehead. Why hadn't he bothered chasing after Alfred? Well, no matter, he would give Alfred his present the first class they had together, and nothing would stop Ivan!

~*oOo*~

Ivan didn't give Alfred his present at Math.

Or in Vocabulary.

Or in Math.

Or in Social Studies. Every time he so much as looked the popular boy's way, Ivan's mouth dried and he worried so much at his lip by the time he reached third period, it was big, puffy, and swollen. Splendid. Now he looked like a girl as well as felt like one.

The image of Alfred crumpling the outer-space valentine Ivan had made for him haunted the Russian's thoughts, and he gnawed away at his pencils when his lip became too sore. He imagined the chocolate heart (He really, really hadn't wanted it to be a heart, but they only had one mold) falling to the ground, bouncing slightly as it cracked to pieces. He imagined Alfred's bright blue eyes to be marred with disappointment and revulsion.

He would not give the valentine to Alfred. He would. He would not. He would leave it in his locker. No, he would find someone to send it to him, like a teacher or Matthew. He would seize Alfred by the collar and make him accept it. No.

Anticipation made his heart flutter hopefully, while the idea of rejection tore at his thoughts, weighed down buoyant butterflies into anchors of hopelessness, tugging his heart out onto the floor. Resignation as he weighed the pros and cons. He would not do it. A burst of determination as he could hear Alfred's friendly banter. Yes, Ivan could and would do it. His resolve ignited once again.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat cycle.

At lunchtime, Ivan just picked at his food at his normal spot alone at a table while the group Alfred hung out with chattered and laughed nearby, Alfred's cheerful voice piping up above the rest, making it unmistakably distinguishable. Alfred became involved in every conversation, tugged even the most reserved member of the group into talking nineteen to the dozen, his laugh seasoning everything so often, making the air around these golden students seem brighter. A regular Golden Mochi.

Before Ivan was aware of what he was doing, he found his legs moving automatically towards Alfred's table. The occupants at the table took notice of Ivan and shifted around uneasily as he approached, some putting their books atop of vacant seats so that Ivan would get the picture and take a hike. Why had Ivan broken an unspoken taboo?

He shook, and wanted something to hold onto—oh, how he missed his scarf!—but was afraid of breaking the chocolate heart he held in a paper bag, so he just clutched Russia Mochi in his pocket for courage. When he arrived, he cleared his throat, and for the first time in weeks, Ivan saw Alfred's blue eyes dart towards him. Ivan's mouth dried, but he held out the small card and parcel in his arms mechanically, as though they were a peace offering.

"Alfred."

_Courage_, he imagined Russia Mochi saying from his pocket. Ivan's head felt like it was drifting off his shoulders, yet he continued to speak.

"Would you—I, uh, um, w-would you be my…my…valentine?" Wasn't that how Americans said it? _Valentine_ meant friendship and forgiveness, right?

The lunch table abruptly abruptly silent, people goggling at Ivan in disbelief. A piece of lettuce Alfred had been chewing fell out of his mouth and onto his plate. Ivan swallowed, felt the need to explain himself, and went on as other tables took notice of Ivan's words, and people's heads swiveled around to listen:

"I am sorry about what happened in second grade," said Ivan sadly, looking down at his feet. "I have _always,_ always regretted it—it was worst mistake of my life. But I want to be friends with you when we enter middle school," he said hopefully, daring to look up into Alfred's astonished eyes. "You are best friend I ever had. I miss you. I care about you so—"

A split second of stillness, and then, the explosion. Alfred froze in his seat, mouth dropping slightly as every single person gathered around him started to roar with laughter, fists pounding merrily on the table. Ivan's face abruptly fell as a gaggle of girls nearby began to howl like hyenas, and so many others brayed like donkeys. _Hee-haw! Hee-haw!_ The place sounded like a zoo.

Other tables took up the rhythm, and even those who had no idea what was going on started to laugh too, keen to look informed. Soon, the entire lunchroom was abuzz with laughter, its pulse throbbing with it everywhere Ivan turned. The paper bag slid from his limp fingertips and crashed onto the floor, just as he feared it would.

"Oh my God! Braginski loves a boy! Braginski loves Aaaaallllllfffrrrreeeeeed!" jeered a red-eyed student in their class named Gilbert. "Geez, lower your standards 'cause a girl doesn't wanna look at you? When's the wedding?"

"Hey, Fat boy! Fattie! Does Fattie love Alfred? Yes he does!"

Desperate for someone to help him, the Russian looked left and right, suddenly swelteringly hot and shaking like mad as the jeers erupted all about him and on his sweaty skin, prickling like so many itchy ant bites, pincers moving beneath the flesh to the red below—

"Fattie loves Alfred, Fattie's a queer!" sang another student. "Fattie's a queer! Why don't you head back inside the closet, Fattie? _Or can't you fit inside it?"_

That comment inspired another wave of the horrible laughing, and Ivan threw his hands over his ears and raced out, the glittery space valentine flying in his wake. The sight of the lumbering boy so clearly humiliated, running so quickly made the pitch rise even higher; some people even clapped out of the sheer richness of what had to be the most horrible joke ever.

**_Ha, ha, ha, ha ha !_**

~*oOo*~

Alfred hadn't looked angry as he'd feared, but blown away. He'd been shivering, and rightly so, because Ivan had completely and thoroughly **humiliated** him. Another wrong, and despite the degradment he'd endured, he would never be able to make this up to Alfred. **Never**. They could never be friends again.

He wanted to die.

The Russian sprinted to the Boys' Bathroom—there was only one stall occupied—and immediately barricaded himself into one of them, closing the lock behind him, intending to stay for a few hours or perhaps a few years or a lifetime or so.

Wobbling legs giving out under him, the boy sank to the tiled floor, still shaking, aware of pain in his lip, and something hot racing down his chin, but it seemed immaterial, inconsequential. His teeth chattered as if he were cold and he very well might have been.

In books, Ivan had read descriptions of people being in so much pain that the world had blurred away to a throbbing red haze before their eyes, but the cruel reality was that no detail was spared before the young boy's eyes as his disgrace was replayed over and over again in his head, stabbing words flying out at him like exploding rock. His lucidity seemed extra-magnified, despicably crystalline clear; there was no comforting nothingness or relief upon being alone again, away from the voices that had torn into his ears and the faces that painted themselves over his eyes.

Ivan crushed his hands to his eyes and wept bitterly, his heart having imploded itself in his chest. He heard a pair of footsteps come in to the bathroom but made no move to silence his sobs. Soon enough, someone had approached his stall, and was tentatively rapping on it with their knuckles. Ivan curled into a ball, hands digging into his beige blonde hair and tearing at the strands.

_"Go away and leave me alone!"_ screamed Ivan, far from caring who it was. The tapping did not let up, and Ivan sucked in his breath through his clenched teeth, his hand rushing for Russia Mochi in his pocket. He would open the door if the person did not disappear by the count of ten and then Ivan would show them a real bully, if that's what they wanted him to be. He would sock them and kick them and become so frightening that no one would dare approach him anymore, continue to want to humiliate him!

"Hey…."

There was that familiar voice, and it was not tight with disdain or disgust, though it certainly sounded strained. Hardly daring to believe it, Ivan's tearstained face lifted and he found Alfred's blue eyes peering at him through the crack in the door, as if Ivan were a zoo animal. Ivan cringed, buried his face in his hands again, and turned away, like a bat being exposed to direct sunlight.

"P-please," begged Ivan, voice breaking. "G-go a-away…."

A pause. "I can't. Please let me in."

Ivan didn't move for a second. Then, he very slowly lifted the latch and let the door open just a crack. Alfred squeezed inside, and carefully latched the door behind him. It was a tight squeeze with both of them inside. He didn't say anything.

Somewhere, a faucet was dripping. Ivan turned his watery eyes to his ugly, rough boots, marveling at the irony of it. For months he would have done anything, anything for Alfred to look at him again, and now that he was Ivan couldn't bear to look back.

As he did when they were much smaller, Alfred broke the stillness between them.

"…okay, wasn't expecting that," he said slowly, and Ivan slowly looked up at him as if pulled by a string. The boy just looked slightly dumbfounded, at best.

"Y'know, phrasing is everything when ya give someone a valentine, Ivan. That sounded…weird."

Ivan's wide purple eyes filled with tears again, and Alfred slowly sank to his knees with some difficulty, biting his lip.

"…you…I know this is a stupid question, and you can punch me if you like, but are you okay?"

Ivan buried his face in his hands and started to sob; Alfred's hand wandered towards Ivan's shoulder, then started as if it had been bitten, and quickly drew away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't….I thought…I hoped….I am sorry. I am sorry for embarrassing you. I hope they do not tease you for it and they probably will and I am sorry and I am a horrible, horrible person."

Still nothing. Considering this was likely the last conversation he'd ever have with Alfred, Ivan wretchedly said, "I never, ever meant to hurt you Alfred, but I did...I regretted it the moment I closed my car door, it was such a stupid, stupid thing but I didn't think you'd want to be friends with me anymore…"

"Ivan…"

"Even if you don't want to be seen talking to me in front of them, it's okay!" Ivan breathlessly insisted, tears oozing down his face. "It's okay! Even if you don't say anything to me in class, even if you join in teasing me with the others, if you just come to my house or at least let me visit you once in awhile outside school, that'll be good! Please!"

A shuddering sob, then a sigh. His eyes found the cracked bathroom ceiling, and the words spilled out of him, painful against his throat.

"I'm so lonely…"

Alfred just gazed at him, expression impassive.

"I'm sorry, Ivan. You're right."

Ivan closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to stem the sobs that bubbled deep down.

And then he let out a soundless gasp as a pair of lanky arms uncertainly wound themselves around his shoulders. "That had to be the dumbest fight ever. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to say it…I never meant to get you into trouble, honest." Alfred sounded like a pleading second-grader. "If it means anything to you, that was the most fun day I'd had since Mom and Dad kicked the bucket. Well, minus the totally lame ending."

Ivan tried to speak, to implore forgiveness again, but Alfred just muttered "Shut up. Uh…give me a sec. I'm no good at this," he said, making a face.

"Dude, I'm so sorry…I said I'd be your hero, and what have I done for you? Absolute junk," said Alfred sadly. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble. I'm sorry I didn't try to patch things up with you…." He whistled and threw his head back, looking unhappy. "I'm sorry we missed out on three years of camping, sleepovers, junk, and what have you. I'm sorry I held bunny ears over your head in the class photo that one time. I'm sorry I moved away when you tried to sit next to me again. I'm sorry I never picked you to be on my team. And I'm sorry about helping Arthur get revenge for the pudding incident. It's…it's been really tough without you," he admitted, and Ivan just looked at him, aghast.

"How?" he demanded, angry that Alfred was trying to throw one on him. "You have plenty of friends! Lots of them!"

Alfred just shrugged wearily. "Maybe a couple, like Kiku….but most of them don't really give a crud about me, Ivan. To be honest, I have better relationships with the random people who want to be friends with my Mochi." He pulled out a small Mochi from his pocket, eyeing it wistfully. "I think it's more popular than I am."

Ivan smiled—a weak watery thing, but a smile. Alfred smiled in return, looking relieved.

"I don't have many friends that I can hang out with outside school. No one wants to come over to a children's home to play….and I haven't had any friend actually remember the things I like or share any dreams with me or care about my feelings and junk. As long as I'm funny, everyone likes me. But if I didn't try hard, no one would like me, Ivan," he said sadly, looking down at his lap.

"That's not true," said Ivan fiercely before he could stop himself. "I will always like you."

He worried that the words sounded too strange, but Alfred gave him a kind look. "Thanks, Iv."

The Russian melted inwardly. _Iv_. As familiar and friendly a nickname as _Vanya_. He immediately seized Alfred in a hug, only to realize seconds later that his friend was gasping.

"Uh, uh, Iv, I'm…I'm really glad to have you back bud, but I'd like my-ow-spine intact!"

Red-faced, Ivan drew away and noticed for the first time that Alfred had the paper bag that he'd dropped in his hands. Alfred grinned, and shook it promisingly.

"Y'know, I think we'll just have our lunch in here. This was still in the bag when it feel, so it shouldn't be all gross and nasty. Still, the two-second rule has a chocolate amendment away."

"But it's broken," Ivan protested, peering inside and relieved beyond relief that the chocolate pieces no longer resembled a heart. That would have seemed just _too _weird. "And chocolate for lunch?"

"Still good," said Alfred good-naturedly. "And chocolate is the breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions." He popped the sweet into his mouth. "Mmm. It's good—did you seriously make this?"

Ivan nodded timidly, slapping himself inwardly before carelessly saying "Da. My mother helped me." He helped himself to a piece.

"Do you remember hiding under your mother's table while we ate baklava?" asked Alfred, sighing nostalgically. "Dude, your Mom can cook."

"A little better than Arthur can," said Ivan teasingly. Alfred laughed.

"Dude. I am affronted at you making fun of my big bro's master culinary skills," he said sarcastically, scooping up a handful of chocolate as Ivan rolled his eyes. "I could go get those cookies he made for me out of my locker if you like…"

"I think I'd rather return to the lunchroom, da?" asked Ivan, and Alfred snickered. "Your brother's food…it is always good, until he decides to cook it. When we were very small and Arthur gave me a biscuit, I tried it, and then brought it home for my mother to try. She said that she hoped you were saying grace before, during, and after every meal your brother made.

Alfred began to crack up, and Ivan with him, trilling at the sound of their joined voices, a bloom of happiness sprouting from his heart.

All too soon, the bell rang, and Alfred stood up, halfheartedly scrubbing at his chocolate-covered mouth.

"C'mere, big guy," he said, pulling Ivan into a brief, one-armed squeeze. "Let's go."

Once the two left, the lock belonging to the stall next to the one Ivan and Alfred shared slowly opened with a soft creeeaking sound.

Arthur Kirkland quietly stepped out, expression mutinous.

And his eyes could have burned a hole through pure sheet metal.

~*oOo*~

Ivan left school exhausted, spent, and thoroughly tormented on the bus (Someone had dumped chocolate milk down his back; he would be walking tomorrow), but altogether in much better spirits than he'd been in what felt to be a very long time. After taking a long soak in the tub, he wandered to the computer and decided to check on his Mochi. The poor thing probably felt neglected; strange as it sounded, Ivan felt somehow responsible for it.

When he signed in, he realized that for the first time ever, he had Mochi Mail. Startled and praying it wasn't one of his schoolmates sending him a nasty message, he clicked on it.

_IvanRussianMochi66 has been asked by 1RadHeroAmericaMochi to be friends. _

Ivan froze, and then leaned forward, biting his lip, that bud of warmth blossoming inside of his chest, spending heat all the way to his kneecaps.

_Will You Confirm? _

Ivan immediately clicked _Yes._ Suddenly, the image on the screen changed; one second, his Mochi had been blinking sadly at him from the computer screen, the next, a sunflower was rising up next to the large mochi, who was now looking cheerful. A smaller mochi was perched atop of Ivan's, smiling cockily. Like Alfred, the _anthropomorphic_ rice ball had a blonde cowlick on its head, a pair of glasses, and bright blue eyes.

_Hooray! IvanRussianMochi66 and 1RadHeroAmericaMochi are friends! IvanRussianMochi66's health went up exponentially! 1RadHeroAmericaMochi's vitality went up 3+! Mochi Mochi! _

Ivan beamed. Alfred was offline right now according to his Mochi stats, but later on, perhaps they could chat through their Mochis and play games. As he spent time daydreaming of the Mochi Missions they could do together, another message popped up in his inbox, this one from someone Ivan didn't know—a 13/7WondrousWriterMochi. Curious, Ivan clicked on it, only to pale, an apple rosy with joy that had discovered a midsummer frost.

_Ivan, _

_Stay away from my brother or else. –Arthur. _

~*oOo*~

Ivan cornered Arthur the very next day in the bathroom. It didn't seem right to tell Alfred of Arthur's threat, considering Arthur was to Alfred what Katyusha was to him, albeit much more controlling and snobbish.

The fourteen year old didn't seem surprised when he met Ivan's eyes—on the contrary, it seemed almost as those he'd been waiting for Ivan to appear. The two were of the same height, and Ivan could tell Arthur was displeased about it, considering he literally seemed to be on his toes, as if to make up for it. Ivan scowled.

"Let this be a friendly piece of advice, Arthur: _You don't own him_."

The eldest Jones brother raised an eyebrow, and while nothing in his immediate expression changed, Ivan sensed that there was nothing Arthur would have liked to do more than to sock him. He drifted away from the Russian towards the sinks, and leisurely washed his hands, in no rush. He didn't speak until he reached for a brown paper towel from the dispenser to dry his hands off.

"Well then, let this be a friendly warning," said Arthur pleasantly, though Ivan shivered at the boiling pretense that rippled underneath the surface, a shark in bright blue waters. "You broke my brother's heart at a time where it was still just coming together again, and I hate your guts for it, though to be completely frank, I've _always _hated your guts. While Alfred was playing the big showman at school, he started crying every night after your little adventure—'" Arthur held up his fingers for quotation marks "-went sour."

Ivan bit his lip, face burning with shame, though he stood his ground. Arthur's harsh, murky green eyes remained fixated on the younger boy.

"I would like you to remember," Arthur said sweetly, "Who was the one who told Alfred stories to cheer him up, rocked him to sleep, and soothed him? That was me. Who was the one who protected him from bullies at our _home_—who _still _protects him from all the brats who want to take advantage of his soft heart?" Arthur's tone highly insinuated that he ranked Ivan in their number. "That was, and is, _me._ I take care of Alfred when he's lonely, and I help him with his schoolwork, and I make him smile. I'd throw away everything if I thought it would make him happy!" Arthur declared, tone becoming ragged, violently intense as he slowly started advancing on Ivan, all the honey sweetness draining out of his voice and expression.

Ivan backed up until his back hit the stalls and wondered if he ought to run out. "You have NOTHING on me, Braginski! Nothing!"

Ivan opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur was on a roll. "I didn't mind Alfred getting so many friends after you, because he still knew that I was the best friend he ever had. Because he _knows_," he raved, not seeming to notice Ivan's disturbed look as he seized the boy's shoulders. "He KNOWS I'm the best friend he has on this Earth! I'm closer to Alfred than his _own twin_! What does that tell you, eh?" Arthur demanded. "He loves me! He loves me more than anyone else—"

Some sense seemed to creep back into Arthur, and the eldest Jones' brother slowly withdrew, still breathing heavily. If Ivan didn't know better, he'd say that Arthur looked almost ashamed of himself.

"You hurt my brother again, and you _will_ regret it. I promise you that. What I will do to you will make what happened in the lunchroom seem like a harmless pinch. You think I'm kidding?" he asked sharply when Ivan raised an eyebrow in turn. "I _almost _want you to try so you can see for yourself."

He slowly advanced, and Ivan wondered if this was how people cornered by Natalya felt; like a trapped rabbit. Arthur sneered at him.

"Stop trying to ruin our happiness. My advice to you is to get out while you can. I'm a very concerned and involved older brother."

And with that, he strode out, leaving Ivan alone.

~*oOo*~

Breathing in deeply, Arthur leaned back in his seat and counted backwards from ten, trying to calm himself. He'd almost completely lost it with the little slug, been taken aback by his own anger, but there was no need to give Ivan the satisfaction of thinking he was actually a _threat_ to Arthur. _Hah!_ Arthur snorted quietly to himself as he tried to turn his attention to his notes. Ivan hadn't been competition in the past, and he most certainly wouldn't be now.

Still, Arthur felt his blood pressure skyrocketing. It was just because the little Russki was so annoying. He tried to scribble something on his notebook paper, but the words floated away and looked like gibberish to him, his thoughts still tethered to the little rat and his darling brother.

What he was feeling was natural. The brothers had lost their parents—lost Matthew, in a way. He was Francis' brother now, not _his_. Arthur felt no real poignant remorse or bitter sorrow stab at him at the thought. He'd liked to tend to his baby brother Matthew in the past because it had been fun, but _Alfred_ had always come first. Matthew had been content to stay in his corner and be good, but what Alfred needed was someone to protect him from _himself_. He was like the troublesome baby half-chick Arthur had read about when he was little, the bird who only had half a body but insisted on going on ridiculous misadventures when his mother urged him to stay at home safe under her wing.

Arthur had been scribbling down a formula, but now he found himself idly doodling the same name over and over again in fancy script: _Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, Alfred…_

The world was cruel and harsh and ugly all at once, especially to creatures who were as innocent and naïve as Alfred. That was why Arthur knew he would one day earn his doctorate so that he could continue to watch over Alfred, so that his brother stayed warm and safe. Matthew had that twerp _Francis_ looking after him. Who would care for _Alfred_, keep a roof over his head and make sure he was well-fed? _Ivan?_

God, he had a headache. Arthur tilted his head back and inwardly groaned, rubbing his temple with his fingertips.

The two boys would have another falling out sooner or later, or Ivan would move, and the boys would lose contact. Childhood friendships were weak, paltry, nothing like the relationship between siblings. Getting Ivan out of the picture—for good—was just a matter of time; Arthur just needed to wait. Then, he would swoop in and comfort Alfred until the boy forgot about the ignoramus.

Arthur raised his pencil to his lips and brooded. Ivan looked like a rather stupid kid, so he would probably get held back a grade or two while Alfred went on with his life. Hopefully, it would happen sooner rather than later; he loathed the idea of having Alfred go off again to sleepovers with the awkward, lumbering dork when the young man should be at home, studying, resting. What if Alfred had a nightmare and needed comfort? What would he do if he awoke in a sleeping bag alone, without his Arthur to drive out the creatures in the dark?

The idea of Ivan pulling Alfred into a hug while the boys slept on the floor or in _Ivan's bed_ had the fourteen year's old teeth grinding against the pencil, very nearly gnawing it in two. He would have to tell Alfred that sleeping in another bed with another boy was sick and unmanly. Unheroic. That would get his brother's attention.

"_But Artie_," he could practically hear his brother asking. "_Why is it okay for me to sleep with you, then_?"

Arthur groaned. Crap. Well, he was going to have to think of something. The last bell of the day rang and Arthur stood, stretched, and reached inside of his desk, pulling out a concealed pencil case and opening it.

The ring was now too small for any of his fingers but his pinkie, and he supposed it looked ridiculous, but Arthur pulled it on. There was nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing wrong with him. This ring symbolized his promise to look out for Alfred, to be his knight. It was his sole promise to his dying father and his mission in life.

And woe betide anyone who tried to take his role away from him.

~*oOo*~

* * *

**O.O Wow. Artie, you are just decking on the crazy, aren't you? Not that Ivan's unfamiliar with it. Poor dear. **

**Am I the only one who really wants a Mochi right now? I don't really approve of online games and think that toys are getting way too electronic and junk these days, but I really want a Russia Mochi! **

**Next chapter: Kiss, Kiss. Sounds yucky, but interesting stuff happens! One of our fine characters gets himself a girlfriend, mistletoe gets involved, and it's first kiss time—but for whom? ;) **

**Ta for now, my lovely reviewers—all who comments on my story gets a Mochi of their choice, to be mentioned next chapter! Mochi, Mochi!**


	7. Kiss, Kiss!

~*Chapter Seven: Kiss, Kiss*~

**Thank you everyone for your reviews! They are my good things in life. :') The story is starting to get a little bit more serious, but I still hope you enjoy. We hardly see poor Mattie in this chapter, but he'll finally get a decent role next segment.**

**I won't be able to update for maybe a week or so-I start new Summer classes soon, so have yourselves a freaking long chapter!  
**

**To those of you who requested a Mochi, DanieSora, you may have the Lichtenstein Mochi, though I have to warn you, Switzerland Mochi may be very angry if you try to take her away! Silentbunny17, have yourself a Russian Mochi. (If he gets sad, be sure to give him sunflowers, vodka, and of course, his American Mochi.) ^_^ Trypheria gets the awesome Prussia Mochi, although be warned: He needs a lot of attention! Kaylm Aditra, please look after England Mochi! You can feed him anything you like, though he needs his tea (And his American Mochi). :p :) Artemis Fortune, please look after Italy Mochi! He needs lots of love and good food! **

**The American Mochi is for the Vampire Alchemist. Be sure to give him lots of hugs! (And hamburgers, mind you.) **

**Fight on, Mochi, mochi, fight on!**

* * *

~*oOo*~

_Flashback: Thirteen Years Ago_

_It was a wintry afternoon at the Jones' residence, and Mrs. Jones had invited the members of her Young Mother's club over for a social. The women were gathered in the dining room, laughing and gossiping as they enjoyed hors d'oeuvres. A tiny, smartly dressed Arthur waddled around with a little platter of biscuits, and it wasn't long before chitchat turned to cooing, especially when Arthur bowed ridiculously low and left the room. _

_"Agatha, how in the world did you train your son?" Mrs. Honda enviously asked Mrs. Jones. "Such an angel!" The house was filled with murmurs of agreement. _

_"He's just such a well-mannered love!" piped up Mrs. Bonnefoy, shaking her head with a small chuckle. "I know the boys get along beastly, but Francis could certainly learn something from him. He squeezed out an entire tube of toothpaste in the bathtub yesterday. Can you imagine the mess? It's bad enough that every time I turn my back, he's trying to paint the cat!"_

_Like a bunch of hens, the women clucked sympathetically. "And Arthur has such a nice vocabulary," added Mrs. Łukasiewicz with a sigh, taking a rueful bite out of one of Arthur's biscuits and very nearly chipping a tooth**.** "Anywhere you go these days, you really can't expected to be called 'sir' or 'ma'am' anymore. Young people these days have no courtesy, but your son holds the door open for everyone and talks so nicely! It's so refreshing to see."_

_"He'll definitely be the lady killer," agreed Mrs. Beilschmidt, sipping her iced tea. "So mature and independent at his age! My little boys still cry whenever their Daddy goes away for business, and they're seven and eight years old!"_

_Another member chimed in, "My little Roderich gets into fights with the little girl next door and comes home covered in scrapes, bawling his eyes out. Even after I clean and bandage the boo-boos, he needs a full hour's coddling before he'll calm down! Not like Arthur. I don't think I've ever seen the lad cry." She leaned back in her seat and chuckled slightly. "Does he even know how to?"_

_"Rubbish!" exclaimed one of the women teasingly, waving around a biscuit. "Proper gentlemen do not show their tears! They have none! Why, their tear ducts dried up while they were still in the womb!"_

_The women started cackling. Mrs. Jones smiled graciously, though the smile did not touch her hurt eyes. Arthur's mother wearily drew her fingertips through her wispy blonde hair for a moment and daydreamed of being in one of the other women's positions—looking after a normal, troublemaking child with dirty fingers that missed you when you were gone and liked to cuddle and was capable of loving back._

_Then, came the all-too familiar pangs of guilt_. **Shame!** _Exclaimed the nasty voices in Agatha's head._ **How dare you think about your only son that way? You're such a selfish, undeserving parent! Poor Artie! No wonder he's so unwilling to open up to you! You're just like your mother—a neurotic, needy witch!**

_In a flash, a filmy layer glistened in Agatha's eyes, but just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Agatha was actively chatting with her girlfriends again after someone wisely changed the subject._

~*oOo*~

"So, there's no chance? None at all?"

Never, ever had Arthur Kirkland Jones expected to find himself in this situation. But here was she, her green eyes filled with tears, hopeless hope carved into every line of Bella's features.

Feeling rude, he looked away, but he did not know where to look. He swallowed—a difficult feat, considering how dry his mouth was—and coughed, wondering if he ought to pat the other green-eyed blonde on the shoulder.

"…I'm sorry," the sixteen year old said uncertainly, shifting uneasily from the one foot to the other. "Bella, you're really a very nice girl and you've been very kind to me and I like you, but I'm not…really in a position where I can pursue a relationship right now. I—"

The Belgium girl stomped her foot, attracting attention from passerby in the hallways, the very thing Arthur hoped to avoid. He didn't want rumors of him having a lover's spat with Bella going around, especially to the ears of her menacing big brother. "Why not? I like you Arthur. You're so grown-up and well-read! And you said just said you liked me. Why can't we just give a try?"

Arthur bit the inside of his lip hard. "Bella, you don't understand. I really, really need to focus on my grades right now."

"But you've made honor roll like, forever! Geez, I'm not asking to marry you or anything—I'm just asking you to give me a chance!"

"I'd like nothing more than that," Arthur lied beneath his teeth. "Honestly. It's not…"

"Don't give me the 'it's not you, it's me' garbage!" exclaimed Bella passionately. "And you're a _sophomore _for Pete's sake, so why can't you have any fun for a change?"

Patience weakening, Arthur glared at her.

"But that's exactly it. Bella, I need to have the most superb grades possible so that I can get into a great college and get a life for myself!" he exclaimed passionately. He knew he was overplaying it just a little, but it had worked the first three times, so why wouldn't it work now?

"I can't afford to slack off even for a moment! I need to work AND get a scholarship so I can pursue a doctorate! Even if I just take out loans, it will take _years_ to pay them off, and I don't want to wait even longer than I have to before I can have my own house, my own car, my own life with my brother! I'm sick of living a second-class existence, and I'm even sicker of watching my little brother live with it! I'm not going to allow us to fall through the hole most foster-kids fall into and never come out of! That's why I can't permit myself to get involved with anyone right now, especially you, because I'll be too distracted! I hope you understand."

Bella just stared at him. Then, to his horror, tears started to dew in her eyes. He coughed again and felt in his pocket for his handkerchief, worried that Bella would hit him, but then the girl leapt forward like a tiger and wrapped her arms around his neck. He choked, turned red, and resisted the urge to throw her off bodily. "Acck! Bella, I demand that you—"

"You…you are SUCH a sweet guy, Artie!" she exclaimed, and Arthur cringed at her usage of Alfred's pet name for him. "Ohhh…I'm so, SO sorry I didn't like, understand earlier! I heard the rumors, but wasn't sure if they were true….you're such a nice guy!" The young woman drew back and wiped at the corners of her puffy eyes. "Of course, I'm disappointed…I'd hoped you were just letting Elizabeta off easy, but I totally understand where you're like, coming from! You're so cute, trying to look after your little brother and stuff! For totes!"

Arthur wrinkled his nose at being called 'cute.' Well, at least she wasn't making nearly as big a scene as Elizabeta, who had started sobbing with delight upon learning the reason of her rejection. He tried to regain his composure. "So, I hope you understand why I can't take you to the winter formal…"

"Oh! For sure!" exclaimed Bella, wrapping her arms around him again, ignorant of Arthur's shudder. "You gotta look after your brother! It's like you're the hero in some Christmas movie! Just promise me that you'll like, wait for me and stuff!"

"U-Uh…sure."

Bella beamed, pecked Arthur on the cheek, and seized his hand and a sparkly pink pen that had been behind her ear. She scribbled a number on Arthur's cheek and ran down the holly-covered hall, humming merrily to herself. Arthur slowly shook his head and scowled at the phone number on his hand, which Bella decorated with half a dozen little hearts. Splendid. Well, at least she hadn't used permanent marker like Elizabeta had…

He turned to his locker and got his books out, checking his watch. That had taken longer than expected. Now he was going to have to hurry so that he could take the bus to work and pick up Alfred later on…he rushed outside, blinking at the weak winter sunshine, and hopped on his bicycle, shivering as he wrapped the green scarf Alfred had clumsily knit for him around his mouth, and took off for the restaurant he worked at as a busboy. The owners had been at first unwilling to hire someone so young and inexperienced as Arthur, but they'd cracked when they heard his sob story. _Everyone_ did, which was why his (true) story worked so magnificently in his favor so often.

As Arthur started growing taller, girls who had in previous years dismissed him as an creepy little eccentric had begun to turn their heads towards him in curiosity. He was no longer a 'loser,' but a 'loner,' which they evidently thought was attractive, and he was no longer a 'know-it-all' but someone 'very smart,' which they also seemed to think was attractive, and he was no longer thought of a 'cranky, hot-tempered ass,' but as a 'moody' sort of person, which girls evidently found sexy. The fact that he was unique amongst his peers—someone who spoke old-fashionably and came to school primly dressed instead of being a slob—made him seem _interesting._

And of course, there was the sob story. Everyone loved the sob story: Orphaned at an early age, living in a children's home with one of his little brothers, working hard so that he could triumphantly pull them out of the gutter. A regular tear-jerker.

Bizarrely enough, the fact that he was completely unobtainable seemed to make girls crazier about him, making Valentine's day a living hell. He wondered if the girls knew or cared that all the chocolates they stuffed in his locker invariably wound up back to Alfred, who was only too happy to "dispose" of it.

Arthur snorted to himself as he parked his bicycle, shivering in the cold. As least they had gotten out of school early today so that he had more time at work to hide if yet another admirer came through the doors. _Yet again._

In short, Arthur Kirkland Jones found himself in the most unexpected and somewhat terrifying position of being an absolute chick magnet.

~*oOo*~

While Arthur enjoyed his fair share of attention, thirteen year old Ivan rued over his complete and utter lack of it. Even as he tried to work, jealousy was clawing at his insides like a trapped cat, and frustration was searing through his veins at the sound of _her_ voice. _They_ were talking next to him, ignorant of him, though he was in perfect earshot.

"So, Lili, do you think you can come?"

"Of course," a soft, sweet voice answered. "I'm very excited, Alfred. I don't know what in the world I'll wear, but it'll be fun as long as you're there."

He could hear Alfred shift in his chair, and though he couldn't bear to look, he still saw Alfred smiling goofily, abashedly, cheeks rosier than normal.

"Aaaahhh, Lil, you're makin' me blush…"

The Russian didn't know why he felt so fed-up with the world at that moment, or why he'd already snapped two pencils before third period, but he felt absolutely lousy. _'Alfred has right to talk to anyone he likes,' _he thought, wincing as he pressed his pencil tip against the paper too hard and broke the edge. '_You're just being a jealous nut like Arthur because you don't have anyone else to talk to besides Natalya_…' he shivered. He'd much rather chat with his old Mochi. Mochis didn't come into your room at night to snip off a piece of your hair for their album.

When the bell rang, Lili stood up, blew Alfred a shy kiss, and left with her girlfriends. Ivan practically had to drag his swooning friend into the hallways, looking none too happy about it.

"That girl…" Alfred let out a giggle and then clapped a hand over his mouth, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "Dude, I liked her so much when we were kids…must be fate."

Ivan just let out a noncommittal grunt. Alfred went on:

"Artie's goin' on all the time how we're too young ta be datin' and stuff, but Iv, I really, _really _like Lili."

"I know," said Ivan shortly. Alfred spent a good 75% of the week telling him so. Alfred glanced curiously at his best friend, coming down from his high to notice Ivan's lack of enthusiasm.

"You okay, man?"

"Fine," said Ivan curtly, slowly turning his head towards Alfred and baring all of his teeth in an attempt to smile. Judging by Alfred's disturbed look, it didn't work so hot.

"You sure you don't wanna come?" asked Alfred pleadingly as they walked into the library together for study hall, sitting down together. Ivan just shook his head.

"Nyet. I do not dance."

Alfred just lifted a brow. "Aw, c'mon, man! You did an _excellent _funky chicken at your seventh birthday party," he sniggered, and Ivan immediately had a hand over Alfred's mouth.

"You promised _never_ to speak of that again!" he hissed, heat rising in his cheeks. The librarian hushed them. Blue eyes watering Alfred just looked at him and chortled silently, his warm lips shaking underneath Ivan's large hand, face glowing with warmth. Ivan took his hand off of Alfred quickly, immediately searching around him for any gawkers. Alfred sighed.

"C'mon, dude, it's not like they're so bad now…"

"Says the one who had to dig his gym shoes out of the toilet again last week," said Ivan curtly, noticing the humor evaporate out of Alfred's face. He missed it. "They are too frightened of me now to do anything but talk behind my back."

Alfred shrugged; Ivan stood a good head and a half taller than anyone else now, and the kid remained as bulky as ever, though the baby fat clinging to him was starting to give way to some muscle as he, Matthew, and Alfred had taken to playing hockey together. Other bullies stayed clear of him, stayed clear of Alfred if Ivan was in clear sight, a hulking warning sign hovering behind the young teen.

But despite the fact that Mrs. Braginski made Alfred take seconds, thirds, and fourths when he came to dinner and the boy had eaten what had to be half a truckload of chocolate from Arthur's admirers, the boy was simply a skinny little matchstick who was an open target to a great number of creeps. While he wasn't nearly so unpopular as Ivan, he was constantly having his books knocked out of his hands or having signs such as 'homo' taped to his back. Alfred elected not to tell Arthur about the fact that he was being bullied, because the sophomore would simply show up and his fists would fly.

"Ya sure you don't wanna go?" he asked, and Ivan flipped through his science book so as to not have to look at Alfred's infamous puppy eyes. "It's Christmas. That can your present to me."

"I already bought you your present," said Ivan, smirking slightly as Alfred gasped.

"What? Really? Dude, what is it? What is it, what is it, what is it?"

"Can't tell," Ivan sang, wincing apologetically when the librarian shushed them again. "Christmas isn't for two weeks. But you will definitely love it."

Alfred pouted. "Dude, that's not cool. You know my gifts are always something cruddy, like a pinecone bird feeder or an ornament."

"Your gifts are never 'cruddy,'" soothed Ivan, not mentioning that he'd never thrown away a single one, kept them in his special box. "They are made with love, da?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and flushed slightly. "Man, that's so cheesy."

"But true?"

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred put his chin on his hand and smiled, eyes twinkling, and Ivan started as he felt something warm _shift _inside of him, like a sleepy bear stirring from hibernation. "You know, it's not gonna be any fun without you there."

Ivan felt slightly queasy, though he didn't know why. "N-nyet. You will go with Lili, and have lots of fun." He paused. "Ah…does Arthur know…?"

Alfred immediately whipped his head back and forth, back and forth. "Nu-uh! And it's gonna stay like that, okay? Please?"

For a brief second, Ivan considered what would happen if he were to tell Arthur, who would likely have a temper tantrum. _'You're too young to be taking **anyone** to a dance, Alfred! I forbid it! Do you hear me? Either you tell Lili you don't want to take her, or you stay home.'_ The idea is surprisingly tempting, but as Ivan would sooner take Arthur to the dance than break Alfred's trust, he nodded, and Alfred beamed at him again.

"Thanks, man." He held up his fist, and Ivan clumsily bumped it with his own. "But you SURE you don't wanna go?"

Have his mother force him into a ridiculous outfit, comb his hair in a way he hated, and then be subjugated to Natalya clinging to his ankles, insisting that he take her with or stay home? Watch Alfred and Lili awkwardly slow dance while he sulked alone in a corner, watching them? Ivan would pass, thank you very much.

"Nyet," he said again, with finality. Alfred sighed in resignation and turned back to work. Ivan followed suit, but after ten minutes of their pens scratching on paper, Ivan couldn't help but ask:

"Is Arthur taking anyone to the high school dance? I have heard they are having one."

Alfred nodded absentmindedly. "Nope. Weird, huh? Artie's so…., but he is sure is a ladies' man." The blond chuckled to himself. "That's just too weird to try and imagine, right?" he frowned thoughtfully. "Wonder why he doesn't wanna go?"

"It is a mystery to me," Ivan semi-lied, and the two didn't exchange another word for the rest of the period.

~*oOo*~

_Agatha supposed she'd been fairly spoiled as a child. Her father, Arthur Kirkland—for whom her firstborn had been named after—was a quiet, withdrawn sort of man wholly incapable of showing much affection for his child or his wife. Instead of planning family events, her father had dreaded them and escaped them whenever he could, preferring to spend his time reading or fishing or staring out pensively over the sea rather than attend a graduation ceremony or a reunion. _

_He had been a man good at telling stories, but that had been it; he was curt, cold, and Agatha might as well have tried to hug a stone wall rather than attempt to hug her Papa's leg. _

_Looking back, Agatha thought that perhaps even he had sensed his lack of warmth towards his family and had tried to make up for it by giving them lavish gifts rather than hugs and kisses. But even at six years old, though she became the proud owner of a grand dollhouse with dozens of accessories and seven new dollies on Christmas morning, Agatha would have rather had the hugs and kisses._

_However, it certainly wasn't as though she hadn't gotten a large supply of them; her mother was an extremely kind-hearted, somewhat needy woman who very much needed an outlet for her affections—almost Papa's antithesis. Agatha remembered the hundreds of kisses that Papa had only ever endured, so rarely ever reciprocated—and recalled the time she'd found Mama curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing helplessly. Papa had thrust the hat Mama had very much wanted in her hands before he'd left to go fishing again. It had been her birthday. She had clutched at her wriggling daughter that day, planting her with countless kisses and caresses that had become irritating and frightening very quickly._

_For some reason, Mama wouldn't leave Papa, despite Agatha's urging. "I just can't," she croaked, rocking back and forth in a corner on the night of her tenth anniversary. "It's just me, sweetheart, just me. If I work harder and be a better wife, he'll be home more often, you'll see," she'd insisted. "Papa loves me. Papa loves me." She'd been an incredibly insecure person, constantly buying new clothes and dieting, shopping for creams that the telemarketers claimed would give her skin a 'soft, youthful glow.' _

_When Agatha came home from college to visit at 19, she'd discovered that Papa's once dull eyes were now filled with a strange, almost wild sort of energy. She'd only seen him twice during her week-long stay, and he'd incredibly absentminded—even more so than usual. When he was home, he spent an incredibly long time in the shed out back, and had told his daughter off very harshly for approaching it when she'd came to fetch him for dinner._

_On the last night of her stay, Agatha watched Papa's car zoom out of the driveway from the upstairs window and had tried to comfort Mama, who was in a drunken stupor on the carpet. _

_Once her anger towards Papa had dimmed somewhat, curiosity had overwhelmed her—was her Papa into hard drugs or something?—and she'd crept into the old shed and discovered The Secret that had carved its image into her eyes forever and dissolved any bonds her family might have had left. _

_When Agatha married Stanley Jones, a friendly man who had known her family's history and loved her anyway, she vowed that she would create the family that she'd never had growing up. She had the great fortune of being both lover and best friend to the man she married, which is the most one can hope for in a partnership, and they both craved to create a happy, healthy home with loving children. While she hadn't liked the idea of naming her first child after her father, Stanley had insisted that it was a good idea to change the name's history, to turn unluckiness to success. _

_And she gave in, though she wished she had not. It was bad enough little Arthur reminded her inexplicably of her father, so why did she have to name him after the man? It was like having her father around again, except in fun size. While her son was a great deal more polite and articulate than Papa, he scarcely ever smiled and would not hug her on his own. There was so little sense of childish wonder and whimsy in his eyes, even when he was read his favorite fantasy books. It seemed he was born a little skeptic, unable to show love to his own mother. Mrs. Jones laughed alongside her friends though she inwardly just plain_ hurt. _Her husband found Arthur's standoffishness as something endearing, not abnormal in any way. _

_But Mrs. Jones joined the clubs full of fretful mothers and read the guidebooks. Something just seemed off in Arthur, and she wondered if maybe there had been something wrong in Papa too. He'd been born in a time where not a third of the diagnoses for social/cognitive/emotional had even existed. What if he'd had something that had been unchecked for years, something that had passed to Arthur?_

_She'd taken Arthur to countless pediatricians. Did he have Autism, which might explain his emotional aloofness? No. She didn't think that had been the case, anyway. Did he have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, considering how uptight he was about neatness? No, they assured her. Arthur was simply a tidy child, and OCD would not explain his emotional state, which three doctors claimed was rather eccentric, but not abnormal. Many of the specialists congratulated her, told her she was raising quite the genius._

_As she watched Arthur gather sticks in the backyard and plant them into the ground, Agatha debated taking her son to a few more specialists. Her husband had been good-natured about the business at the beginning but was now getting rather annoyed, thought that she was insinuating something was off in their brilliant baby's heart or mind. While she'd never do such a thing, she yearned for an explanation, a puzzle piece that would explain this distinct coolness she felt about her only son and help her fill it in the emptiness. She desperately longed to hear Arthur call her 'Mommy,' and he wouldn't even do that! He stiffly called her 'Mother.' What child in this day and age did that?_

_Maybe Arthur had no real problem, no need of a diagnosis, but she wanted help her little baby be happy. It was the least he deserved. _

_Sighing sadly to herself, Mrs. Jones went back into the house and started fixing Arthur's lunch. She would take him to at least one more pediatrician, would get it out of the way as she needed to go the doctor's herself. She had been getting terribly queasy lately, and her ankles had begun to swell. _

~*oOo*~

At the end of the school day, Ivan and Alfred met each other in the halls and started discussing a movie they wanted to see as they wrapped up in their winter wear (Ivan had taken his beloved scarf back for the time being).

"—I totally would have made a better Captain America!" huffed Alfred as he zipped up his beloved, slightly oversized bomber jacket. "Seriously, who does Chris Evans think he is? I—"

Suddenly, a girl squealed and seized Alfred's arm. "Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!" she sang, her face lighting up with terrible glee. Bewildered, Alfred turned to look at Ivan, who looked nonplussed. The girl's chant was picking up attention fast, and soon they were surrounded by a sea of smiles. Alfred tried to tug his hand out of the girl's grasp.

"Uhh…wha?"

Suddenly, without warning, three boys shot out of the crowd, their arms wrapping around Ivan's. The Russian's purple eyes widened in panic, his struggles to throw them off useless as even more people came forward to immobilize him.

"Nyet! What are you doing?"

"Heeeeelp!" wailed Alfred as a boy wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist—Ivan felt a surge of anger boil inside of him—and the blonde was pushed towards his best friend. Everyone was laughing, giggling, stopping to watch, all pointing at them, at the ceiling….as if on unison, the two boys raised their eyes to the ceiling, where a small spring was hung, its berries gleaming faintly, as if in delight to their predicament.

Ivan closed his eyes and silently swore to himself. _Shit._

"Weeeellll?" sang out a boy named Matthias. "You know the rules! Pucker up, you two! Then we'll spring ya."

Alfred weakly struggled against the boy and two girls holding him down. "Oh c-c'mon! YOU pucker up with your boyfriend! Or your mother, considering she's the only girl YOU'RE likely to ever smooch—"

Matthias scoffed even as people roared with laughter at him. "Yeah? Well I ain't under the mistletoe buddy, so ya gotta kiss!"

"Who says?" challenged Alfred, still fighting against the arms holding him, but only more came to help restrain him. Matthias raised an eyebrow.

"I do, you little queer, or your head's gonna go in the toilet with the shoes."

"If you do that," said Ivan sweetly. "I will kill you."

The crowd actually quieted somewhat at that, and people shot worried looks towards one another. But Matthias just laughed uneasily.

"You? You might have the brains of a bucket and be a lumbering shit, but everyone knows ya don't really have what it takes to get ya hands dirty."

Ivan stepped forward with a great deal of difficulty. Alfred gulped at the positively _dangerous_ expression on his best friend's face, and even Matthias, captain of the football team, wavered a little.

_"Try me,"_ said Ivan coldly. Matthias just rolled his eyes.

"Just kiss him, and we'll leave you alone!"

"Kiss, kiss!" mocked Gilbert, ignoring Alfred's struggles and holding tight to him. "C'mon! Tell your tubby Russki to kiss you, Alfred, just the way you like it. C'mon, kiss him!"

"Kiss, kiss!" exclaimed Elizabeta's little sister Lisa, dragging out her camera. "Please! Kiss, kiss! Kiss, kiss!"

The chant picked up amongst the students until it was a roar:

"Kiss, kiss! **Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"**

Ivan's mouth dropped open, and Alfred looked in the crowd for a helpful face, maybe Lili's or Matthew's, but he saw no one who would help them. Even Kiku, who was a fairly good friend of Alfred's, was holding up his phone, prepared to take a picture. Alfred growled under his breath. _Asshole._ He threw his head back and groaned weakly.

"Will you leave us alone if I just…do it already?" he asked tiredly.

Ivan felt sweat start to bead underneath his neck, prickling softly as his heart began to burn, desperately throbbing against his throat as if it wished to pop out and was rebelling angrily against confines. _'He can't possibly mean…'_

The crowd started jeering in affirmative. Alfred shrugged lightly, looking cool and uncaring as he somehow managed to in a crisis—Ivan would have loved to know how he did that—and tentatively stepped forwards towards Ivan, looking unsure of himself.

The beige-haired young man just stared at him, hands quivering, moisture beading his palms underneath their rough leather gloves, and his mouth dried. He felt paralyzed, unable to move even if he did not have half a dozen people holding him down.

The hall was growing incredibly hot as Alfred got closer and the cries got louder, and Ivan's heart was going crazy in his chest, his lungs contracting and releasing like a jellyfish's body, and his stomach twisting and curling itself into knots. Everything was going into hypersensitive mode, though his legs remained numb, unfeeling roots, planting themselves obstinately into the crowd as Alfred approached him. He looked down; Ivan's breath hitched as he saw the toes of Alfred's boots slowly rise upwards—

"Kiss! **_Kiss! Kiss! Kiss_**!"

As he came closer, there was the heat of Alfred slightly leaning against him as his face tilted upwards, and Ivan's eyes shot up and the two were barely inches apart and he wanted well he didn't know what he wanted there was just this second this eternity this now this **craving**—

But suddenly, there was a new voice, one so loud and terrible it cut through the mantra of the crowd and people jumped, expecting to see an angry teacher or the principal.

**_"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"_**

Arthur Kirkland Jones strolled through the crowd and thrust the two startled boys apart, immediately stepping in front of Alfred like an Aegis shield, face red with anger. The students who'd been holding Alfred down started to complain loudly, but their protests died when Arthur turned to them. For a smart boy who was known to be well-mannered and reserved, it was remarkable just how much he looked like a raging bull, pawing the ground. The very air above him appeared to be simmering with his rage.

"What the hell," Arthur snarled. "Is wrong with you little brats? Huh?" People shouted, cat-called, and booed, but he remained fixed in his fury. "Forcing a pair of boys to kiss, huh? You seem to like that rather well—tell me, are you **all** a bunch of dykes and queers? Want to get off on that? **_Well_**?"

To a crowd of middle-schoolers fretful about their reputation, no sentence could have been quite so effective; everyone scattered like a school of tiny fish before an approaching whale, keen to not make eye contact with one another. Ivan suddenly found himself free and turned to look at Arthur, who was hugging Alfred.

"Now, are you alright?" fussed Arthur, leaning back from the hug to eye Alfred critically. "Those little swine didn't hurt you, did they?"

Alfred rolled his eyes but leaned forward to hug Arthur again, and Ivan saw Arthur smile faintly in satisfaction. "Nah, they were just bein' real creeps. Not a scratch on me. What about you?" he asked Ivan, turning to give his friend an worried look. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"…nyet," said Ivan, almost wishing that he'd had been roughed up a little bit, just so that Alfred would approach him again. Alfred smiled in relief before turning to his big brother. "Guess I should thank you, bro."

"But of course." He wrapped an arm around Alfred's shoulders and Ivan simmered.

"Da, thank you," muttered Ivan, thinking that he'd rather kick Arthur rather than thank him. "Thank you _very much."_

Ivan went home feeling rather dejected.

~*oOo*~

* * *

The next day at school, when Alfred tried to talk with Lili, the young girl had just looked at her shoes and told them how nice she thought Alfred was, but she couldn't go to the dance with him after all, because…because there was this thing she had to go to. Ivan comforted Alfred as they walked out of school together, Alfred's normally bright and optimistic eyes dreary.

"Is not so bad, da," Ivan tried to comfort him, patting his arm. "I will go to dance if it will make you happy. We can make fools of ourselves together."

Alfred smiled a little at that.

"Thanks, but no thanks, man. I don't really feel like going at all anymore," he said honestly, lifting up his head to look Ivan in the eyes. "The night of the dance…maybe we can just…hang out together?"

Ivan beamed at him.

"Of course, da, what a question! You know you are always welcome at my house." His expression faltered a little bit. "U-um, well….Natalya is…."

"Kind of scary?" asked Alfred. Ivan shook his head. "Da. Nyet. She is very little and confused about how things work. She does not hate you."

Alfred looked skeptical, his breath coming out in puffs in the bitter cold. "She locked me in the closet when we were playing hide and seek, Iv."

"She said she did not know you were there."

"That's what she _said_." Alfred looked up at the puffy gray clouds overhead. It looked like it might snow soon. "But I'd love to come."

"It is a date than, da?" Ivan could have slapped himself for his phrasing.

Alfred just bobbed his head, grinning. "It's a date."

~*oOo*~

True to form, Mrs. Braginski was delighted with the idea of Alfred coming over, and Natalya less than charmed. Ivan's mother insisted that Ivan ask Arthur to come over too, which neither boy was very pleased about. Playing the role of ridiculous, overbearing parent, Arthur hadn't really wanted Alfred to go at all, protesting that it was a school night. But when Alfred told Arthur that he'd been considering going to a dance with a _girl_ (it wasn't QUITE a lie, he _had_ considered it when it was still an option), Arthur was gung-ho for a trip to the Braginskis, or at least as gung-ho as Arthur could be about a trip to the Braginskis.

Natalya had been the one to open the door when the boys arrived, her dark eyes narrowed in unmistakable dislike. Arthur stared coldly at her. Alfred had shifted from one foot to the other, smiling nervously.

"Um, h-hey, Natalya." He squeaked.

Natalya tried to close the door, but Ivan appeared out of the corner and held it open, frowning at his little sister. "Nyet! You are very rude, Natalya. Welcome," he said, cheerfully to Alfred and indifferently to Arthur. "Please, come in." The little girl sent Ivan a positively withering look, but reluctantly stepped back, hands on her hips.

Mrs. Braginski had been standing over the stove when the boys entered the kitchen, but the little woman had turned upon hearing Alfred scurry towards her, smiling broadly as she wiped her hands on her apron and folded him into an embrace. She smelled of soap and soup. "Hey, Mrs. B! I missed you!"

"Oh! _Privyet_! Hello, my little _padoctb_, joy!" Mrs. Braginski kissed Alfred on the head, unaware that Arthur was trembling with resentment just a few feet away. She leaned back and eyed him critically. "Ah…Alfred, you are looking peaky, da?"

"Hello, Mrs. Braginski," said Arthur cheerfully, stepping forward with his hand extended before she could hug Alfred again. "Lovely weather outside for winter, eh? And are you implying that I don't make sure that Alfred gets fed?"

"Ar-thuuuuur!" exclaimed Alfred, ears going red. Ivan _saw _red. Mrs. Braginski just blinked and quickly regained her composure.

"I am sure you do excellent job," she said. She looked as if she were about to hug him, but settled instead for his hand stiffly extended towards her. "But my role is to worry just a little, da?"

"Yes," said Arthur, in a voice that was too polite to be sincere. "For your children, of course."

Mrs. Braginski raised an eyebrow. "I consider Alfred to be second son." Arthur looked as though he'd been punched in the stomach, and opened his mouth to calmly retort, "Oh really? Is that so?"

"Alfred, let's head upstairs," said Ivan hastily, pulling his best friend towards the nearby staircase, Natalya in hot pursuit.

~*oOo*~

After some time, Katyusha's car had honked in the driveway, and Alfred, Ivan, and Natalya had scurried out to meet the twenty-three year old woman who had gentle hugs and smiles, even for a crabby little sister. Ivan took one of his big sister's hands and Alfred had taken the other and the four had headed back inside. It was starting to snow, fat flakes drifting serenely in the breeze.

Watching Mrs. Braginski greet her oldest child and gather her three children in her arms made a painful lump rise in Alfred's throat, and he was grateful when Arthur's hand reached underneath the table and squeezed his own.

Before long, the six were crowded around a little table, spoons clinking against bowls as they ate their soup and bread. Katyusha happily talked of her internship in a hospital in Idaho, and her mother listened while Natalya just picked at her food, glowering daggers at Arthur, who was glowering across the table at Ivan, who was glowering at both Arthur and Natalya, the latter glowering at Alfred, who just chirped questions to Katyusha about work in a hospital and remained oblivious.

Soon enough, Mrs. Braginski brought out dessert—_blini_—and Ivan watched in stupefied wonder as Alfred happily shoveled them down. He'd always adored _blini_, but he wondered how Alfred could hold them all. Soon, he felt just quite full just looking at the boy eat, his own plate of blini only partially touched.

Mrs. Braginski shouted down their protests and insisted that she clean up herself, leaving the youngsters alone at the table while Mrs B washed pans in the kitchen. Katyusha produced a deck of cards and they began to play, but considering how often Natalya left Alfred in the ruins, it seemed very likely Natalya was cheating somehow. Arthur's attention kept wandering away from the game. He seemed deep in thought.

He stood up after awhile, claiming he needed to use the restroom—Natalya peeked at Arthur's cards when she thought no one was looking—and came back a moment later, looking troubled.

"Alfred, can you look at something for me?"

"Hmm?" His brother looked up from his cards, frowning slightly. "What? What is it?"

Arthur smiled apologetically, fingering his shirt. "I think I've lost a button, but can't be sure…can you help me look?"

"Sure." Alfred hopped off his seat and approached Arthur in the doorway (Ivan slapped Natalya's hands before she could scoop up his cards) looking thoughtfully at his blouse. "Whoa. You're not missing a button—the King of Clean and That Is Tidy buttoned his shirt wrong! Someone take a picture!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Hilarious," he said dryly, his eyes wandering up to the plant hovering above them. "Oh…mistletoe."

Alfred blushed and immediately stepped back. "Oh, eww. No thanks."

Arthur shrugged helplessly. "It's a tradition. Bad luck to ignore it." Alfred looked bewildered.

"So why didn't you make Ivan and me kiss that other day?" he asked blandly, and Natalya's cards fluttered to the floor.

"_What_?" the ten year old asked in a terrible voice, the blood draining out of her face. "What was that? What does he mean, big brother?" Ivan inched his chair away from Natalya's, frowning at Arthur.

"Nothing, Natalya—we were under the mistletoe—" Natalya let out a sharp gasp of horror. "—but nothing happened. So Alfred does not have to kiss Arthur, da?"

"I think it is good idea, just to be safe," said Natalya. Ivan frowned at her and approached the brothers, peering at the plant as he stood underneath it. "Big sister, that is not mistletoe!" he exclaimed. Katyusha blinked, shuffling the cards.

"What? Ivan, do you not see the berries? Of course is mistletoe. But if you do not wish to kiss, no one will die of it, da?"

"They do need to kiss!" boomed out Mrs. Braginski's voice from the other room, much to Ivan's horror. Her head popped out of the door and she gave the three under the plant a frown. "None of you may move from that spot until you kiss. I will not have bad luck swept into house near New Year." Mrs. Braginski was a very superstitious woman. Ivan's heart sank.

"Well, that settles it Alfred," said Arthur, shrugging his shoulders in defeat even as he grinned ear to ear. Oh, how Ivan wanted to slug him! But Mrs. Braginski held up a hand. She was not finished.

"Alfred, kiss Arthur. Then Ivan, kiss Arthur." Natalya whimpered and Ivan immediately started protesting. Arthur looked as though he'd been ordered to swallow a can dog food, lid, container, and all. "Then Alfred must kiss Ivan."

"Mama…" whimpered Ivan. "Nyet…."

"Da," she said sharply. "Do not argue, son. Now get with kissing or **I will not be happy**."

"Nyet!" exclaimed Natalya angrily, running to her brother's side and clutching him tightly. "Nyet! Ivan will not kiss Arthur and he will not kiss Alfred!"

Ivan looked piteously at his eldest sister, who was concentrating very hard on dealing cards, though she shook with silent giggles. "Sister, help…"

"I think I will be the staying of right here," she said simply. Mrs. Braginski just crossed her arms.

"Natalya, you are not permitted to move from that spot until you kiss Ivan, Arthur, and Alfred."

"Mrs. B, is this really necessary?" whined Alfred unhappily. Natalya slammed her feet.

"Nyet! I will happily kiss brother but not Arthur and—"

"ENOUGH."

The voice was a surprise from such a tiny woman, more like a thundering roar, and Natalya immediately fell silent, though her eyes glittered with resentment as she scowled. Mrs. B stared at them.

"You think I am kidding, da? You must kiss. Or stay there all night. I can wait." To demonstrate her point, she drew herself up a chair. Alfred groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"…fine…." He mumbled unhappily, exchanging commiserating looks at Ivan. "Let's get this over with."

Natalya stood up on her toes and turned towards Ivan, puckered up. The boy rolled his eyes but kissed his little sister on the cheek, which placated her somewhat. She tried to step out of the little circle but upon seeing her mother's flashing eyes reluctantly stepped back in, little arms crossed. She was definitely sulking. She gave Ivan a big wet smooch on the cheek, and Alfred could see his best friend wipe at it in disgust.

Alfred bent down and kissed her hair with as much as enthusiasm as if he'd been asked to kiss a rabid cat. Natalya made a face and wiped at her head, as though afraid Alfred would leave germs. Natalya "kissed" Alfred on the cheek, though judging by Alfred's wince, the little girl had managed to use teeth.

Arthur very reluctantly bent down and he and Natalya glared at each other for a moment. Then Arthur kissed the air above Natalya's head and Natalya nipped at the air beside his cheek, and not at all in a playful manner. Mrs. Braginski nodded.

"Natalya, you may step out. You are done."

The little girl did so gladly, still staring angrily at the Jones brothers. Katyusha looked up from her cards. "Ivan, why don't you and Arthur kiss Alfred at the same time?" she asked gently. "Get it over with." Ivan desperately wanted to say nyet, but saw a spark enter Arthur's eyes. So, the scheming creep wanted to seem like a better kisser, da? Ivan narrowed his purple eyes, caught up in the heat of the moment. If there hadn't been fiery determination running through his veins, he might have actually caught up with his thoughts and have kicked himself. But it was just a friendly kiss. A kiss that had to be good, better than Arthur's. Natalya looked tremendously unhappy.

Alfred covered his eyes as both Ivan and Arthur bent towards him, Arthur smiling self-assuredly, Ivan's face set. The two leaned towards opposite sides of Alfred's face, and Ivan's heart started singing in his veins the way it did the other day. Still eyeing Arthur, Ivan turned his lips towards Alfred's cheeks and—

-and Alfred yelped and bent out of the way red-faced as Ivan and Arthur's lips accidentally connected for the briefest of seconds. Natalya went scarlet with rage and started hissing like a rattlesnake; Alfred's hands were over his mouth as Ivan started gagging, and Arthur began to retch, both rubbing their mouths furiously, as though they'd been burned.

"I—you-eeeyyyyyyuuucccccccchhhh!" howled Arthur, pawing at his face ferociously. "What the **devil** was that?"

"You are one to talk!" exclaimed Ivan furiously, using his sleeve to scrub his lips clean. Uggh, even after six or seven baths, his lips would still feel so incredibly filthy!

They both glared at Alfred, who was doubled up on the floor, laughing hysterically. He wasn't alone; Katyusha was trying to hold her laughter in to no avail, and Mrs. Braginski was actually clutching a stitch in her side. Natalya looked incensed. "Well, Ivan and Arthur both kissed at same time, so they are done with each other," said Mrs. B ironically, chuckling at the death-looks the boys were exchanging. "Alfred dear, you may have…dodged that one, but you must kiss Ivan and Arthur before you may go."

Tears running down his face, Alfred stood up, still silently shaking with laughter as he turned to face his brother. Arthur bent to kiss him on the lips, and Alfred reluctantly returned it, making a face. "There. Arthur, you may step out. Alfred? Vanya?"

The competitive burn in Ivan abruptly died as the boys looked at each other. Alfred smiled apologetically and looked at his shoes. Ivan shuffled forward, not saying anything. He would kiss Alfred on the nose and be done with it—then the boy could mimic him and MAYBE they wouldn't go to bed too humiliated to look at each other. He leaned forward, pressing his pale lips against Alfred's nose, and the boy started and immediately swiveled his head up, his lips accidentally brushing Ivan's.

If the blood had burned before, now it boiled; Alfred's eyes widened and Ivan just stared at him, too surprised to move, too distracted to _want_ to move—

And then it was over. Arthur stepped back under the mistletoe to drag his brother away, and Natalya seized Ivan around the waist and tugged him back. Mrs. Braginski sighed.

"Arthur! Natalya! You stepped under the mistletoe! You must start all over again!"

~*oOo*~

_Nine months later, little Arthur was frowning as Stanley took Matthew out of the room. Agatha's hands twisted themselves into the sheets, though she told herself not to be silly._ 'So what. Babies cry. Arthur will forget this before dinner.'

_Arthur tried to climb off the bed, but Mrs. Jones held him fast._ 'Please. I don't want you to be like him, to be unable to have a relationship with anyone!' _"If he cries, _fine_. Just try, okay, dear?"_

_Arthur pouted considerably, but allowed Mrs. Jones to place the second wriggling bundle into his arms. _'Please bond, please bond like the books said you would, please….' _She thought desperately, praying with all of her might that Arthur would like Alfred. _'Please, I don't need him to love me but these boys need a kind elder brother, so please…'

_Arthur determinedly frowned at Alfred, who was slowly settling in his arms, gas making his lips twitch up every now and again. The annoyed look on Arthur's face slowly melted away, and Agatha knew Arthur thought Alfred was smiling at him._

_Perhaps he was. She would never know for certain. _

_The clock gently ticked away the seconds beside them, and Alfred began to settle into his rhythm, occasionally kicking ever so slightly at the air with his pajama-clad foot. Arthur's fingertip settled on the little leg and danced to the tiny scrap's foot, and there was that grin from Alfred which may or may have been a grin at all—was the boy ticklish?_

_Alfred squirmed as Arthur lightly stroked his little foot and Arthur stopped, his expression becoming brooding. Alfred let out the softest of coos and gripped Arthur's finger when it moved to his pitifully tiny hands. Alfred mewed like a kitten and smiled again, settling down. _

_Arthur's eyes glowed as he gently touched Alfred's cheek again, and the little boy swallowed heavily as Alfred gurgled, turning his face towards Arthur. Arthur did not smile, but looked entranced, as if he were holding a priceless treasure or his own child. _

_But the look was not entirely fatherly. There was a strange intensity growing in Arthur's eyes as he held the infant, lip wobbling slightly as if Arthur were about to cry. Mrs. Jones faintly felt something drop in the air, though she couldn't specify what in the world it was. It was as she were feeling a resounding vibrato from Arthur's own heartstrings. _

_Slowly but surely, a smile blossomed on Arthur's face, and he looked awed, blown away. The scene would have made the cover of thousands of Hallmark cards everywhere. _

_And yet, for some reason, the picture made Mrs. Jones very unnerved as she lowered her phone corder. She told herself to not be silly—after all, Arthur was a child with his sibling, not a desperate man enamored with a young woman—but all the same, she thought it best to move Alfred away for right now._

Because that was the precise way HE had looked at HER all those years, when THEY had met.

'Of course he's this fascinated—he's just met him,' _thought Agatha Jones as she wiped her eyes, still partially touched by the overwhelming sweetness of the moment_. 'By the end of next month, he'll be tired of them both.'

_But maybe this was a very good thing. Maybe Arthur would finally get attached to someone. Maybe this was precisely what her little boy needed. _

_Sunlight drifted on the little boy and his brother from the window, and Alfred sleepily opened his eyes at the ray of light that fell on one of his eyes, making it sparkle. Arthur's breath hitched as Alfred's gaze wandered back to Arthur._

_And Alfred smiled, or didn't smile, but Agatha's own breath caught at the tenderness Arthur showed as he moved the back of his head towards the light so the sun wasn't shining in the baby's face. _

_"You are a sweet thing, aren't you honey?" she asked Arthur, dabbing at the corner of her blue-gray eyes. "I think you and Alfred are going to get along just fine."_

_Arthur just nodded, still entranced. Agatha reached out for her newborn._

_"I'll tuck this little guy in now for right now—"_

_Quiet kindness and wonder dissipated; Arthur started as if he'd been shocked, and the dreaminess on his face abruptly gave way to horror. He immediately drew the baby back with a sharp gasp, his green eyes frantic. _

_"No! **Mine**!" the three year old said desperately as his mother gave him a stern look. She was admittedly a bit shaken herself; Arthur rarely let himself get very worked up over things. _

_"Arthur, give him to me," said Mrs. Jones, as firmly as she could, scowling as Arthur attempted to soothe Alfred, who was mewing again, tremulously this time. "Don't be difficult. He needs to go to sleep."_

_Arthur just scooted farther away on the bed, Alfred still clenched in his arms. _

_"In a minute."_

_"Now." She couldn't explain why it had to be_ this very second. _Weak as she was from giving birth just a short while ago, she still pried Alfred away from Arthur, who was gaping at her, astounded._

_What happened next, she couldn't have prepared herself for: Arthur absolutely lost it. The boy threw his head back and started to scream—a horrifying scream, a piercing, grating shriek of agony, as if his mother were tearing into his innards rather than trying to put his brother down for a nap, and he threw himself at her even as she staggered to her feet in her hospital gown, clutching a distraught Alfred in her arms._

_"M-Momma, Momma," sobbed Arthur, tears flooding down his red face. Mrs. Jones felt an inward rush and a resounding thrill; **never** once had Arthur called her that! "Gimme Alfred, Momma. Just another minute!"_

_Agatha hesitated, her heart breaking quietly. "No, sweetheart. Alfred needs to go beddy-bye."_

_Arthur pulled at her pajamas and cried heartily, frantically scratching at her legs as she put Alfred in his bassinette and tried to soothe both boys. "Shhh, Alfred, Shhhhh, Arthur, Arthur, calm down, you're scaring Alfred, Arthur—OUCH!" she howled. "We do not pinch, young man, and **WE DO NOT SCRATCH**! Stop it IMMEDIATELY or I'll—**I'll spank you**!" Never had she once hit Arthur._

_Arthur threw himself on the floor and started beating his fists and feet against it, wailing in misery even as Alfred wailed. Stanley rushed back into the room, green eyes wide with panic. Aghast, he stared at Arthur writhing on the hospital floor, tears pouring out of his eyes and mucus dribbling everywhere on his red, red face. He exchanged an amazed look with Mrs. Jones, who looked ready to cry herself. Matthew's crying picked up at the noise, and now the room was a ridiculous explosion of screams. Mr. Jones rolled his eyes as he listened to what Arthur was saying._

_"Oh, for God's sakes—"_

_"What do I do?" asked Mrs. Jones between barely moving lips. Stanley just looked at her._

_"What do you do? I'll tell you what you can do—**give him the damn baby, Agatha**!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, looking increasingly distressed as Arthur's wails swept back into hysterical screams._

_He scooped Alfred up, attempted to comfort both crying twins at once, and approached Arthur, whose cries were dying down. Stanley bent down to Arthur, always the **kind, good guy** who liked to be friends with **everybody.**_

_"Hey champ, would you like to go on a wheelchair ride? Huh? I bet the nurses wouldn't mind if we borrowed one for a moment. I'll push you around the halls. Doesn't that sound like fun?"_

_Even through his tears, Arthur threw the man a suspicious look. Mr. Jones chuckled._

_"Yes, you can still hold Alfred. Or Matthew," he offered, not noticing Arthur's nose wrinkle slightly._

_"I want Alfred."_

_Mr. Jones nodded, then, he handed the baby with the maple-leaf shaped birthmark over to his wife before he scooped up Arthur, and carefully maneuvered a crying Alfred into the boy's arms._

_"Hold tightly to him now—not that tight! Okay, buddy, let's go." With Arthur in his arms and Alfred in his—Mrs. Jones thought vaguely of Russian nesting dolls—he left the room, leaving her alone with a whimpering baby in her arms. When her senses came back to her, she cradled poor Matthew in her arms and wept silently, loving him with all of her might even as fear prickled her insides, making her sick to her stomach._

_Something was wrong._

_Something was terribly, terribly wrong._

* * *

**You bet your sweet behind there is. *Sighs* UsUk lovers, you WILL hopefully get your rush later on...but for right now, I'm tired and I think we've had enough of an incest fest. **

**Please, please review! Next Chapter: A Night of Vodka And Words. I wonder what's gonna happen here? ;)**

**Forgive me for any type-os, need to find a Beta! Ta, my lovelings! *Runs off***


	8. A Night of Vodka and Words

~*Chapter Seven: A Night of Vodka and Words*~

**Stuff happens in this chapter. ;) Hope you all enjoy! And in case you're wondering who Mei-Mei is, it's Taiwan. By the way, I discourage teenage alcoholism in most forms—my friends and I's idea of getting high involves a bottle of milk and a plate of cookies. :p But because it is a reality and I can very well see Iv and Al doing this…knock yourselves out. **

**Public service announcement: Friends don't let friends write drunk.**

~*oOo*~

Arthur scooted himself deeper under the blankets, sighing slightly. His internal clock told him it was very nearly time to get up, but it seemed like he had retired for the night just minutes ago. Formulas and facts had floated about in his dreams, and the fact that he was due for yet another long day of memorizing new ones didn't make him want to rise and shine.

Oh, how he wished today were a holiday so that he and Alfred could spend an entire day together, it had been so long since they'd been able to….Arthur blindly reached out in the darkness for his little brother, but to his disappointment only found an empty, albeit warm space on the bed. Groaning in resignation, he lifted the covers and rubbed his eyes, cranky as a bear stirring from hibernation.

"Morning!" he heard Alfred sing from the door. "Made ya breakfast, Artie. And it's not cold pizza this time, though I still say that's the breakfast of champions."

Artie's dark grimace brightened slightly at the sight of Alfred grinning at the door, holding a tray with eggs, biscuits, orange juice, and a bowl of the sugary cereal Alfred adored so. He'd plucked a dandelion and put it in a mug beside the food. "Mmmmf. M'rnin.'" He stretched, smiling a little as Alfred proudly handed him the breakfast tray. His sixteen year old brother looked amazingly quaint fetching him breakfast every morning, like a housewife. "You know, you didn't have to make breakfast again," he said mildly as he helped himself to a biscuit and began to put jam on it. "I know how much you hate getting up early, so I have to wonder why you insisted on fixing breakfast yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that."

Alfred plopped himself on the bed, helping himself to the cereal Arthur pushed away with a cringe. "Um, uh, well, I just can't have my poor bro going through med school all day AND doing the chores and cooking, y'know? Every morning you stumble out the door and every night you stumble back in mumbling in tongues."

Arthur's typically harsh eyes twinkled. "It's medical allegory, Alfred. But I appreciate the thought. You're very sweet."

Alfred just snorted and shrugged. "Shoot, it ain't nothing big, bro." He shuffled across the room and drew open the curtains, letting sunlight gently filter the room. Arthur wrinkled his nose as the light hit his eyes while Alfred leaned out their porch and took a deep, appreciative whiff of fresh air. "It's gonna be a nice day today." His hair swayed lightly in the breeze like amber grain, and Arthur stopped eating to stare as the sunlight directly fell on Alfred, who glowed as if he were a gold shard of stained glass caught in a firestorm of light. Beautiful, magical, almost holy.

Arthur's breath caught as Alfred drew back to smile at him with his charming, winning grin that made a sucker out of the eldest Jones brother each and every time. "Perfect weather for camping this weekend…"

Arthur's open mouth immediately returned to a scowl. Oh no, not this again. "Alfred, I still don't think it's a good idea."

The young man stepped back inside, full scale pout in place. "C'mon, Artie," he begged, wringing his hands. "It's just gonna be Mattie and me." Something was slightly off with his voice about that. "I'm so busy with work and Mattie's so busy with hockey we barely get to see each other outside of classes. Seriously bro, I miss him like no one else's business."

Arthur wavered, still unhappy. "Yes, well….why camping, of all things? Why can't you just go to the Bonnefoys or invite Matthew to stay over for the weekend? It'll be chilly outside. It could rain. What if there are creatures in the woods or you get lost or you lose your tent or—"

The blue-eyed boy threw up his hands in frustration. "Geez, aren't you just brimming with positivity? I'm surprised you didn't mention the possibility of a tornado," he said dryly, leaning up against the plain beige wall, still pouting like a child.

"It could happen."

"Arrrrrrthur," Alfred whined. "You're my guardian now and that's great, but y'know me. What kind of trouble could I get into?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Ha, ha." Alfred rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm gonna get enough worryin' from Mattie without your help, mister. If it gets really bad we'll just tough it out like rangers or huddle in Mattie's car like failures." The buoyant look in his eyes sank, and the boy looked like a lost puppy on a snowy Christmas Eve. "Dad always said he'd take us camping one day, but he never got the chance to. I've been promising Mattie for years that we'd do this, and while goin' into the woods in town isn't the same thing, it _kinda_ is. Please, Artie, just this one time," he begged, clasping his hands together, lower lip wibbling pathetically. "C'mon, Artie, you're always complaining about all the damn noise I make while you're trying to study, so please, just this one weekend I have off? Pretty pretty please?"

_Damn, damn, damn, damn_. Artie squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Blast it all, Alfred knew he had a trump card and used it. At least it was just Matthew. The idea of Alfred being alone in some dank part of the woods with a group of idiot teenagers—particularly one—made Arthur want to break something. Like someone's neck.

Arthur reluctantly nodded, holding up a hand when he heard Alfred's gasp of delight. "You'll go with JUST Matthew, is that understood?" he said threateningly. "You'll carry your cell phone on you at all times and check in with me at least two or three times a day. If I don't hear you before the day's end, I'm sending the police to search for you. You won't try to do anything stupid or go too far into the woods, is that understood? Also, you'll come home if it rains and wear a warm jacket and pack your bug spray and—"

Exasperated, Alfred held up his own hands in a _Whoa there buddy_ gesture. "Yes, Mommy, I will do all the above things you said." Arthur glared at him.

"Alfred, I _barely_ managed to get custody of you, considering our age. Any mischief you get into will reflect badly on me, and the social workers might try to take you back to the home. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not!"

"Then for the love of Christ, just be good. Or at _least_ don't get into any trouble." Arthur resumed his eating, glanced at his watch, and froze. "Oh…I need to get going!" He flew out of bed for the closet, stripping hurriedly along the way.

Shaking his head, Alfred left the tiny room he and Arthur shared, his backpack in hand. Arthur wasn't the only one who had classes soon….

Last year, when Arthur had turned eighteen, he had immediately declared himself an adult and moved out of the children's home he and Alfred had lived at for years. Then, on the exact same day, he'd filed for custodial rights of Alfred, who was still a minor. The state had been reluctant to give it to him considering he was barely an adult, but Arthur had persisted and now the two young men lived with each other on the other side of town in a one bedroom apartment. The rent was cheap but still difficult to afford, even though Arthur had been squirreling away the money he'd made as a busboy for this.

Desperate to contribute, Alfred had gotten a job at a local hamburger joint while Arthur made use of the funds their parents had left for him and attended medical school. Neither of the brothers got very much down time these days due to their demanding schedules, so Alfred was going to take full advantage of this glorious weekend off, just him and Mattie and…._Ivan._

Alfred headed into their bathroom and smiled as he tried both to brush his teeth and pull his socks on. Artie said that the only person he was allowed to _go _with was Matthew. But he failed to say that Alfred was forbidden from _meeting_ anyone at the campsite.

Oh, how Alfred loved a loophole.

~*oOo*~

"Hey bro! Hey Ivan! Ready for this weekend?"

His best friend and his brother turned in the hallway, both in conversation. Matthew smiled, looking pleased.

"Arthur actually gave you the okay?"

"Was there any doubt?" Alfred asked, giving a one-armed hug to his twin and a good-natured slap on the shoulder for Ivan. "I hope Mrs. Bonnefoy doesn't mind us using her old tent…"

"Oh, it's her sister's tent," said Matthew dismissively as the three began to walk. "Mama and Papa have never really been willing to rough it." He glanced at his hand and pretended to flinch in horror. "_Oh, I've broken a nail, Marie! Fetch me wine—I'm in a tizzy_! Then again, that's kind of Papa's solution for everything. Had a bad day? Here, have some wine. Had a good day? Here, have some wine. Mama, you are ballastically furious at _mon _for forgetting our anniversary? Here, have some wine."

Alfred smiled. He'd long grown accustomed to Matthew's calling his foster parents Mama and Papa, had even gotten used to the occasional French Matthew would say now and again. His twin was still fairly withdrawn and sensitive, but considering the astounding progress he'd made in just a few years—captain of the school's hockey team and now able to make friends on his own—Alfred felt like he owed it to Matthew to take whatever comfort he could from their loss. He wouldn't love Mattie any less for it. "You know, I'm sort of jealous. Mr. and Mrs. B let you have wine whenever you want. I've never even been tipsy before because Arthur would go bonkers if he caught me drinking."

Mattie shrugged. "The glamour of it kind of goes away after awhile, trust me. It doesn't even taste all that great—I'd put maple syrup in it if I could."

Both Ivan and Alfred made faces. Mattie's craving for syrup matched Alfred's adoration of burgers—both would be perfectly happy on a diet that consisted of nothing else, respectively. "Mama used vodka for everything growing up," Ivan said cheerfully as they approached Matthew's classroom and paused to keep chatting. "On wounds, for headaches, for chasing away the bad dreams—it is nature's wonder. She would use vodka even as she cooked." Ivan's purple eyes glittered with mischief. "Sometimes, she would even put it in the food."

The twins cracked up. "So, we leave after school?" Matthew asked the two. "In Ivan's car?"

"Da, I have packed everything we might need," said Ivan breezily, turning to his best friend. "I have been looking forward to this very much, da? We do not get to hang out much any more, Alfredka. I miss you."

Alfred flushed slightly, but laughed it off as he rubbed Ivan's shoulder. "Awww, c'mon, buddy, you know you're in a booth at Speedy's practically every day. We yak so much I think the owner is getting kinda annoyed."

Now it was Ivan's turn to turn red. "Oh! You are not in trouble because of me, da?"

"Nah, I think it's my darn charm. My manager doesn't even mind when I snack on the merchandise every now and again, 'cause I'm just all too happy to be on the team. Besides, you're our best customer, comin' in every day."

Ivan grinned, looking relieved. "You in a burger joint is like putting child in Disneyland, da?"

"Alright, get a room you two," said Matthew teasingly as the bell rang, waving before he disappeared inside of his classroom. Alfred beamed at him, and then turned a slightly hangdog expression to his best friend as they hurried down the hallway.

"You know, I was amazed I managed to get permission from Artie to do this. Hell, I need to ask permission when I go to the damn grocery store these days."

"Is camping alone and unsupervised," Ivan remarked as the two hesitated outside of their classrooms, reluctant to head in just yet. He didn't like Arthur, but the Russian thought perhaps he could _maybe_ see where Arthur was coming from. Alfred scuffed his shoe.

"Mmm…yeah…but I don't get the sense my bro trusts me one bit," he complained, pouting in a way Ivan thought was faintly adorable. "'Where are you going? When will you be back? Alfred, don't wear that shirt—you'd look so much better in _my_ clothes. Alfred, I don't want you making any stops on your way home from work. Alfred, I want you to stay home this evening while I'm at my night class. I'll call the house phone to make sure you're there.' Like three or four times! 'Alfred, leave the dishes for me.'" The blonde threw his hands up. "It's like he just wants me to sit around and be some sort of _doll_, Ivan!"

Ivan opened his mouth, but the teacher was clicking his tongue disapprovingly at Ivan's back, so the Russian had no time to do anything but clap Alfred's shoulder sympathetically before he scurried off, leaving Alfred alone in the hall.

~*oOo*~

Much to their consternation, Ivan and Alfred didn't have any classes together in their Junior year, which Alfred had appropriately dubbed the year from hell, but at least they shared the same lunch hour. Ivan watched Alfred attack his lunch with his plastic fork as if the food owed him money and his brow furrowed.

"Is he really that bad, Alfredka?" Ivan didn't have to specify whom he was talking about.

"Worse than ever," said Alfred ruefully as he stabbed his fork into the potato. "Even when he's supposed to be studying, he's breathing down my neck every second of the day! I thought he'd be thrilled when I finally got a job, but man, was he pissed! If we didn't need the money, I honestly think he would have made me quit. He definitely tried to."

Ivan's sympathetic nature battled with his intense dislike for Alfred's older brother. "Well…Arthur has always been like this, da? Is nothing new."

Alfred worried at his lower lip. "Yeah, he was always hovering over me as a kid," he admitted reluctantly. "Now it's worse. He'd spend a lot more time poking his nose into my business if he had the time to. But I guess it's the whole custody crap thing." He squirted some ketchup on his lunch, frowning sadly. "I think it's just got Artie all riled up. Whenever a social worker schedules a visit my bro goes completely psycho and forgets to study so that we can clean our place up." His expression softened just a little, and Ivan was startled at the slight flare of resentment he felt from his lower tummy. "I know he means well. It sucks sometimes, and I don't feel like I get any breathing room or anything, especially considering we still share a bed after all this time—" Again, Ivan felt his stomach muscles constrict as if he had a snake squeezing his insides "—but he's a really good guy. I think he's just worried about getting everything right on the whole 'responsible legal guardian' stuff, you know? Hell, I'm not even supposed to _go_ with anyone 'sides Mattie, but technically I'll just follow you to the campsite and I'll _meet_ you there." Alfred winked. "I'm really glad you're up for this."

Ivan had nothing to say. Considering just _how_ angry Arthur would be if he caught Alfred breaking the rules, Ivan was both awestruck and touched that Alfred had asked him to come along.

The Russian swallowed past a rising lump in his throat, which was both painful and not-so-painful. It was a dull kind of ache Ivan had been sensing lately that felt almost _good_. Thinking about the throb made his neck sweat and his hands shake and that painful and not painful lump start to rise, as if it were determined to journey outside of his mouth or swell to the point that Ivan couldn't breathe.

It took him a moment before he realized that Alfred was speaking to him, waving a hand in his face.

"Uh, Ivan? Yoohoo, Alfred to Ivan, Alfred to Ivan, do you copy?"

"N-Nyet." Ivan fidgeted and accidentally knocked his milk carton over. "Oh…" He cursed in Russian before bending over to wipe the mess up with a bunch of napkins proffered by Alfred. "Da. Sorry, I was just thinking of all the Russian ghost stories I know. I have heard quite a lot growing up…."

Alfred squeaked. "Dude, not cool, not cool, not cool! Don't wanna hear ghost stories!"

"Then why do you insist on watching frightening movies with me?" asked Ivan, feeling warm. "I don't suppose you remember that movie we watched about scary British children who go round countryside killing people, da?"

Alfred huffed and flung a spoonful of peas in Ivan's direction. "Yeah, because everyone at school said that was for real the scariest movie ever so of course we had to watch it!"

"But you spent night curled up under my bed. Actually, we both…" Ivan's breath hitched as he remembered. The fifteen year olds had huddled underneath the table while Alfred's teeth literally chattered from terror. Ivan had been bemused by the whole thing, but he'd rubbed Alfred's shoulder until his best friend had fallen asleep. He remembered the feel of Alfred's skin through his thin T-shirt, how he hadn't complained and squeezed Ivan's hand so tightly when he thought he saw a primly dressed English school youth staring at him from the dark with glowing eyes…

Alfred's voice broke through the web of his thoughts. "I watch scary movies with you cause you're my designated tough teddy! If I get too scared, I can just grab onto you and wait it out." Alfred made a face. "Artie used to tell me us _the_ scariest stories when Mattie and I were kids…I think he just got a kick out of seeing us jump and nearly wet ourselves and run to his or Mom and Dad's bed. Mom and Dad usually kicked us out if we ran to them in the middle of the night, but Artie never did." Alfred's blue eyes became thoughtful, nostalgic. "He used to tuck me in with about a million stuffed animals and told me that some of his weird imaginary friends would keep me safe that night. I thought Artie is nuts—and still do—but it helped a lot."

Ivan tried to ignore the strange, creeping sense of_ jealousy_ that nibbled at his nerves like a dozen very hungry little piranha. He abruptly shook his head again, smiling mischievously. "Nyet. I think tonight we will find a very different sort of entertainment, da?"

~*oOo*~

_Flashback: Thirteen years ago_

_"Artie! Artie, let me play, too!"_

_The thickly-browed young boy looked up from his upside-down paper, looking annoyed. "I'm Arthur, Matthew. And go somewhere else. Alfred and I are busy."_

_Matthew Jones just stared at him, and then angrily kicked at the ground, lip trembling, light blue eyes filling up with tears as he hugged his polar bear beanie tightly with one arm. "You let Alfred call you that. Why not me? And why c-can't I play? I'll tell—" _

_Alfred looked up from the plastic cups he'd been arranging on a little toy stove. "Yeah, how come I'm 'llowed to call ya that?" He waded through the toy soup on the floor to give his twin's hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't cry, Mattie. You can play with us. We're playing house right now." Alfred's nose twitched like a little rabbit's. "You can be the kid, or the Mommy. Don't wanna be the Mommy anymore. It's dumb." He turned to his older brother with a frown. "Can I be the Daddy now?"_

_Arthur shook his head obstinately. "No."_

_"But you're always the Daddy—"_

_"And I'm ALWAYS the kid—" _

_"If you don't like it, then go away, Matthew," said Arthur crossly as he returned to his paper again, adjusting Mr. Jones' hat on his head. Alfred threw a rubber dinosaur in his direction. _

_"If Mattie's not welcome here, than neither am I," said Alfred firmly, partly quoting a line he'd heard on television and crossing his little arms. Matthew stared at his big brother standing up for him and immediately tried to mimic him. "C'mon, Mattie. Let's get our tricycles and be race car drivers!" _

_Now the six-year-old Arthur looked up. "But I can't play that baby game!"_

_"We're NOT babies!" Alfred insisted, leading Matthew away. "You're a dumb baby Arthur, for calling US babies. I don't wanna play with you anymore."_

_Arthur let out a strangled exclamation and hopped up from his plastic seat. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, please don't go!" he pleaded when the twins had toddled half-way out the door. He certainly sounded upset. "Alfred, I said I was sorry. Now you have to take what you said back right now."_

_The little boy paused and turned around to stare at his brother, putting his little hands on his hips—also something he'd seen on the television. "Why should I? You don't even mean it."_

_"Yes, I do. Neither of you are babies."_

_"Now apologize to Mattie."_

_"Wha—"_

_"You have to let him play with us. AND he can call you Artie. And you can call him Mattie."_

_Arthur glared at Alfred, and Matthew inched behind his twin, marveling at how Alfred stood firm under his brother's unwavering mean look. Then, the boy relented with a loud, long-suffering sigh. "Fiiiiiiiine. Mattie, would you like to play with us?" The voice was pleasant, but not very. Matthew thought it sounded like the fake nice voice the kids used on the playground before they kicked sand at you._

_"I don't wanna play house," said Matthew softly, still holding onto his twin._

_"Fine. Let's go out back and play Castles and Knights. We can get sticks and pretend that they're swords and stuff, but we can't let mother see or she'll make us stop."_

_That sounded like a good idea to the boys, and so they consented. Much to his chagrin, Alfred was usually the one tied to the tree out back with jump rope and Arthur the knight (And Matthew, his servant) were charged to rescue him. Arthur had suggested that Alfred be a princess, but Alfred adamantly refused. He much preferred to be the hero, always hated playing the super villain when the boys pretended to be in a super hero world. _

_But as much as he hated being the bad guy or family dog, Alfred was a fair sibling, whereas Matthew fully felt Arthur was not. Arthur was obstinate in the roles he assigned—with himself as invincible protector and Alfred the defenseless damsel in distress or prince or best friend. Matthew just got stuck with the meager roles, was always thrust the black cowboy hat or the role that meant everyone hated him, wanted to defeat him. In tag, Arthur always targeted him rather than Alfred, though he was always content to chase around his speedy twin for what felt like hours on end. _

_When the twins played by themselves, Matthew felt like an equal, a somebody. Alfred had a sort of magic in him in making everyone—even the hot dog vendor—feel like a somebody important. Arthur had a very different sort of power—making everyone feel small and tiny and worthless all at once. As Matthew grew older, he sensed more and more of his attention shifting to Alfred. Alfred was the one whom Artie wanted to play with, wanted to build pillow forts with, wanted to comfort on stormy nights. Mattie was occasionally allowed into Arthur's room whenever woken by a thundering roar or a terrible dream, but mostly his arms were reserved for just Alfred._

_Resentment simmered, but it was hard to get very angry at Alfred, who so often tried to swallow his own fear and cuddled Matthew in the dead of night when he felt terribly lonely inside. He was so happy that he and Alfred had the great fortune of being born twins; it was almost impossible to stay very lonely for long when you had your best friend at your side. _

_Sometimes, when Alfred would elect to hold Matthew's hand instead of Arthur's or play with Matthew instead of Arthur or want to sit next to Matthew instead of Arthur on an amusement park ride, and in those fleeting moments, Matthew allowed himself to feel a rare sense of pride. He remembered casting his older brother slightly smug little grins, remembered being given very hideous stares in turn. _

Flashback: Eleven Years Ago

_When they had spoken of taking Alfred away to another house, one far, far away, Arthur was sick with fear. He'd clung onto their brother and cried until his voice gave out. _

_But he'd stood absolutely still when they'd taken Matthew away to the Bonnefoy house, hadn't looked up when Mattie had wailed in distress. Alfred had clung onto him, his face a mirror of Matthew's pain. He'd sobbed and screamed and begged for the social workers not to take Matthew away, but eventually **Arthur** had pulled Alfred away, one hand over his eyes. He hadn't responded to Matthew's cries for help, even as Alfred wrestled to get to his twin and Arthur clutched him close, as if he were not a dog but a disobedient puppy…_

_Matthew had bawled in distress as some burly officer carried him down the children's home steps, telling him how lucky he was that someone wanted him. Lucky! His own big brother remained deaf to his cries, while his twin wept silently, tears oozing down his heartbroken face. There would be no Alfred to hug whenever his twin got scared (Imagine Alfred getting scared!) at night or someone who would like his jokes or squeeze his hand when they were alone with strange people. _

_As for Arthur, Matthew felt that Arthur wouldn't care what happened to him, so long as he got to keep Alfred. Even as the car door slammed and he watched his siblings grow smaller and smaller before they were burned away by distance, Matthew felt that perhaps he was worthless. Unwanted. Unlovable. He cried again until he was sick, and suddenly there were the Bonnefoy hands on him, stroking, soothing, and he didn't WANT them, because they weren't Mommy and Daddy's hands, or Alfred's hands. Francis hand on his head wasn't Arthur's, and Francis' soft, almost musical voice wasn't Arthur telling him that he DID love and value Matthew, too._

_But he had to accept these comforts, else he felt his heart would be eaten entirely by a great, black despair. He saw Alfred and Arthur at school, felt them comforting him at recess and Alfred sometimes took him to the bathroom so that the brothers could cry together, but Francis became his rock, his anchor, his Star of David. Francis didn't care if Matthew waddled to him in the night shamefaced after wetting the bed again, or if Matthew wanted to sit with him at lunch or if Matthew clung to his hand everywhere they walked together. Where there was no Alfred for comfort, there was always gentle Francis, whom Matthew found himself steadily loving more than Arthur, much to his shame. _

_But Arthur was pompous and dry and hard all at once. Too often it seemed like he forgot Matthew even existed—he only seemed to tolerate his other brother. While he doted on Alfred, to Matthew, he was just **mean**. _

_As the years went by and the gap widened between the two, Matthew found himself slightly disgusted by Arthur's intense **neediness** for his twin. As he started his personal studying in the hopes of becoming a psychologist one day, Matthew thought that Arthur's intense fear of losing Alfred was borderline phobic, a constant sickness. It was if the act of shielding Alfred from threats, real or imagined, became Arthur's sole purpose in life, his very identity._

_And lately, in the few times that he HAD seen Arthur—all of which were instigated by Alfred, because neither Arthur nor Matthew had any interest in each other anymore—it looked like the old protectiveness and whatever else was there was growing, like a fresh ink blot, blooming over his eyes and making them seem…fiery, more so than usual. Too intense. Matthew wasn't certain what he saw there as Arthur draped an arm over his brother and led him away, turning around to give HIM a triumphant look, but he knew one thing for certain: He hadn't liked it one bit. _

~*oOo*~

"Hey, Mattie? You okay? You're pretty quiet."

"Mmm?" The young man looked up and smiled slightly. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking."

Alfred grabbed a nearby stick, and then dropped it as though it had burned him. "Hey, remember that time we went out on a picnic when we were little and the two of us wound up sitting in that patch of poison ivy?"

Matthew shuddered. "Oh, God, I don't even wanna think about that. That was the worst."

"No kidding. I think Arthur got stung by a bee or like six that day. Guess we didn't come from a family of trail blazers."

"Nope." Matthew sighed as the two walked down an earthy brown path, inhaling the scent of the pine trees towering above them. "Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea Al, but you do realize it's gonna be freezing tonight. It's still early April."

Alfred shrugged carelessly.

"Thought those sleeping bags of yours were really strong stuff?"

"They are, but they're only two of them."

Alfred scoffed. "Those things are huge. If it's really that bad, I'll just squeeze in with you or Ivan."

Matthew raised an eyebrow as the twins paused at a nearby stream, admiring the way the glistening water fell over the moss-covered stones. "Um, wouldn't you and Ivan sleeping in the same bag be kind of….sort of…..y'know…..gay?" he squeaked.

Alfred had been taking a sip of water from his canteen, but he spewed it out in his surprise, narrowly avoiding spraying his brother. "Ewww, _gross_, Alfred!"

"What?" Alfred sputtered, his face turning cherry red. "It so is not gay! Would it be gay if I slept in the same bag as you?"

Matthew held up his own hands. "Well, no, if it's with your brother…but Al, maybe people wouldn't have made up all those terrible rumors if you and Ivan acted a bit more…." He shrugged in embarrassment, red as a poppy. "I mean, uh, well, y'know…."

"What?" Alfred demanded desperately as Matthew hurried off to resume hiking. "Acted more like what? What d'you mean, bro?"

"Never mind," said Matthew quickly. "Hey! Is that a rainbow up ahead?"

Momentarily distracted, Alfred hopefully glanced upwards, only to look disappointed. "Hey, I don't see anything but…hey! Mattie, where are ya goin'? Ya didn't answer my question yet!"

Matthew hugged the grocery bag tightly to his chest and strode on, though he could hear Alfred jogging through the wet leaves to keep up. "Hey, answer my question or I will personally defile your hockey posters at home!"

The boy whipped around with a dark scowl. "You wouldn't dare."

Alfred flashed an evil grin at him. "I'll give each and every one of the players some nice mustaches. I make a pretty nice Charlie Chaplin outta people, if I might say so myself."

Matthew sighed and abashedly rubbed a hand over his neck, swallowing slightly. "You know, I would never judge your preferences, Al. Believe me."

That effectively wiped the smile off Alfred's face. "Mattie, what are you saying? You saying that you've been listening to the garbage people spread? Because that so doesn't sound like—"

"N-No! Never!" exclaimed Matthew, looking upset. "Look Al, whatever, I know Ivan's as good as your brother. I get that. It's just that people at our school can be total creeps and not let things go, especially when they misread stuff. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…upset you or anything. I know after what happened with Mei-Mei you don't even wanna talk about this stupid stuff….."

Alfred looked at him for a good long time before he resumed walking, expression troubled. Matthew tried his best to restart conversation, but Alfred seemed to be in a slight daze and didn't quite seem to hear him.

"Ivan should be about done setting up camp right now," Matthew said soothingly, wanting to relax his brother's rigid posture. "Hopefully we weren't too long and he hasn't—"

Alfred brightened when he heard a cheerful whistle in the distance, and the brothers turned to see Ivan waving next to a dark green tent, smiling broadly as he approached them. They'd found a good spot to camp—the tent was protected by several large oaks in case of poor weather.

"Hello! Did you get everything we needed for campfire?"

"Hey," Alfred greeted. "Yep, we got all the essentials this time, so we should be set for tonight."

Ivan's smile widened, and the tall young man brushed Alfred's sun-colored hair fondly with his hand. Matthew watched his brother's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed heavily.

"How like you, to have temper tantrum when we don't have chocolate for s'mores," said Ivan gently, eyes glittering with amusement. Alfred just grinned and jerked away, complexion rosier than ever.

"That wasn't a temper tantrum! That was voicing my opinion in a very humble and contrite manner, I'll have you know."

Ivan chuckled. "By threatening to climb a tree and stay there until Matthew agreed to run back into town?"

Alfred playfully kicked at him, and they all laughed. Before long, all three began searching for firewood.

~*oOo*~

"—and if you stand very still on that road at midnight, if the wind does not whistle too loudly and the stars are bright, you may very well see the last grand duchess heading up the drive, butcher knife in hand, the jewels in her clothes dripping red red blood on the path," finished Ivan cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the disturbed look on Matthew's face and the horrified expression on Alfred's. "That is pretty much end, da? So, what do you think?" he asked the two hopefully. "Do I win?"

"Hold me," Alfred whimpered to Matthew. The other boy just swallowed.

"Uh….yeah, Ivan. You…you win with the scariest story," he said, feebly clapping his hands. "Yaaaay, Ivan. Um, now that we're done with that, anyone want to do something else?"

Alfred heard an owl hooting nearby and shrieked, nearly falling into the tiny campfire the three were huddled around. Matthew started at the sound, blood draining out of his face. Ivan's pleased look turned to one of dismay.

"Er, perhaps that wasn't my best idea," he said hastily, staring perplexedly at the twins, who were gripping each other tightly. "I know good remedy for chasing away fear." He reached for his knapsack and began to fumble about in the darkness. "Let's see….ah!" He drew out a large bottle full of what looked like water, smiling broadly. "Here it is."

Matthew adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward so that he could get a good look at the words on the bottle. His eyes widened. "Ivan, you didn't…"

"Da," said Ivan happily, shaking the large flask of vodka. "I actually did not have to use fake ID or steal from my mother….I just walked into store and bought it. Clerk probably thought I was over 21."

Matthew just blinked, but Alfred leaned his head back and roared with laughter.

"Well big guy, **I** might believe it if I didn't know you better," he said affectionately, pressing his fist against Ivan's arm. "Well gentlemen, should we make good use of this golden opportunity?"

"I…I don't know." Matthew bit his lip. Alfred looked startled.

"Bro, don't you go drinking with your hockey buddies all the time?"

"Well, yeah, but…Ivan, won't your mother kill you if you come home smelling like alcohol?"

"Is just for tonight," said Ivan with a shrug. "She would not know if I came home day after tomorrow perfectly sober, unless she sees guilt in my eyes."

"Will she?"

"I hope not."

"Al?" asked Matthew hesitantly. "Uh, I get the feeling Artie's not gonna be cool with this…"

"It's the same case with Ivan, Mattie!" exclaimed Alfred cheerfully as Ivan carefully tugged the cork out. "What Artie doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, I've never had a drink before in my life! Let's have some fun!"

"Da," agreed Ivan, raising the bottle to the boys in a toast before taking a sip and passing the bottle to Alfred. He grinned as he swigged down a gulp as well, only to gag and clutch at his throat, as if it were on fire.

"Ugggh, this stuff is _strong_! It's the taste of the smell of rubbing alcohol!" He passed the bottle to Mattie, who took a small sip and winced. "Ooogh. Maybe that wine stuff IS better…"

"Is not so bad," insisted Ivan, taking it from Mattie to have another taste. "Just give it a few more tries…"

~*oOo*~

"It's stupid," slurred Matthew, sullenly throwing a stick at the flames and missing by several inches. "Sooooo stupid. Never even got a…never even…never even got put away fer a detention, y'know? And all cause I knocked that stupid's…stupid son of a…stupid guy's nose. Cause he deserved it," he ranted, rolling onto his back and sighing. "You know he deserved it."

"Totally," said Alfred dreamily, hiccupping. "I thought…man, I never even told you but damn, that was like….completely….compretrey _badash_, other me. Uh, Mattie."

"That man will never be half man his mama is," agreed Ivan, purple eyes misting over as he shakily raised a toast. "To….Matthew Alfred boy. You are…hooray." His shaking hand carefully placed the half empty vodka bottle on the ground, and Ivan weakly clapped his hands. Alfred tried to follow suit but nearly fell over on his side. "Hooray," he echoed, smiling widely.

"'nother drink," grunted Matthew, from where he lay on the ground. Alfred giggled.

"Damn, but you can hold yer liquor, buddy bro," he said merrily, awkwardly pulling a sullen-looking Mattie up and handing him the bottle. Mattie took it in his hands and drained a fifth of the liquid. He hiccupped.

"G-g-gotta be…gotta hold sterf….strong sterf…when ya….when ya live like me," he drawled.

"Why? Why man, why ya gotta…gotta live like that?"

Matthew hiccupped again. "Cause you idiot, cause our dumb brother likes you best. He loves you. Loves you, loves you, loves you. Doesn't love me. Doesn't….doesn't…not gonna give a shit about m-me. Never did. Never will! Wanna know why?" Matthew grinned, a smile with no smile in it. "Coz he only evah loved Al! No love for Mommy and Daddy and Mattie! All for Al, all for Al!"

Ivan started violently and Alfred grabbed the bottle away, sloshing some of it. "Stoppit. Stoppit. You are…God, asshat!"

"It's true," sang Mattie, sounding near tears. "It's true, Ivan knows, knows, knows it all! God, you think he don't…don't even guess? He know, Al, he know. And Artie know he know and lock you away forever!" Mattie rolled on the ground, giggling to himself even as tears raced down his face. "Lock Al away, take him away, Lock Al away forever!"

Alfred's hands shook with fury. "What'd you say, little punk?" he snarled, trying to rise to his feet, only to fall to his knees.

"Is enough," said Ivan, gently wrestling the bottle away from Alfred, who was still shaking with anger. "Alfie," he soothed, when Alfred made a move to try and get up again. "Listen. No paint. No paint at all, da?"

Matthew's snores were softly making their way through the other side of the camp fire. Alfred relaxed somewhat, though his expression was still slightly crumbled. "Not nice. That….that other me is a son of a bitch," he cried, and Ivan rubbed him on the back soothingly.

"Da…don't be sad. Wanna…wanna go sleep now?"

"You don't even," slurred Alfred, awkwardly straddling the startled Russian. "No. No. Mattie didn't…Mattie doesn't know anythin' bout anythin', He don't…he don't even live with me anymore, so how would he know bout it?"

"About…about what?" asked Ivan shakily, tightening his hold on Alfred, who was swaying slightly. If he fell back, it would be on open flames.

"Everything," insisted Alfred, sounding angry. "Everything man, everything, the…whole damn….whole damn business."

"Shhh," soothed Ivan, grabbing a nearby blanket and dragging it around the two. "Better, da?"

Alfred still didn't look very happy. "Arthur…Arthur always….he's always…why is he…why is doing that? Side of meat, side of meat, always lookinglookinglooking whenever I have my back turned. Always!" he raved, tears entering his voice. "Never free…..**_always!"_**

He took a deep breath and accepted a swig of vodka from Ivan, who leaned back and took a deep gulp himself.

"And ya know what?" drawled Alfred. "Which…which son of a bitch decided Pluto's not a planet. Why, we should…we know what we should do, Iv?"

"What?"

"We should go up ta—ta wherever this guy lives…and kick his ass."

"Yes," breathed Ivan, suddenly much closer. "We will find him and make him pay."

"Da," agreed Alfred cheerily, taking another swig of vodka. "Dude…it's warm….warm right here."

Ivan trembled. "D-Da."

The two turned to admire the campfire for awhile, silence broken only by the sounds of sparks popping and snapping, the occasional hiccup, and Mattie snoring.

Until Ivan took a tumble off the log they were perched on, Alfred still in his arms. Thankfully Ivan was not so far gone that he couldn't prevent them from falling into the flames, but he still did clutch Alfred like a ragdoll, unaware that he was squashing the other teen. The blonde wheezed, and Ivan let go almost immediately.

"Didn't give ya permission ta do that," Alfred drawled, nuzzling Ivan's cheek.

The Russian's heart almost stopped. Breath catching in his throat, his large arms uncertainly draped around Alfred again, and Alfred let out a happy sigh as he cuddled back into the cocoon of arms and blanket. "Warm…warm….like the way Artie does, but not weird…."

"Artie loves you," blurted out Ivan. Alfred shrugged.

"Yah, we're bros. You know what bros do? They LOVE. Totally. Not like…not like _him_ over there." He gestured in a snoozing Matthew's direction. "Natalya's…Natalya's a weird headcase, though. Still wants to marry big bro!" he exclaimed, pounding his fist against Ivan's chest. "Dude. That's…that can't be cool. That's…that's pretty fucked up."

"Not same," Ivan insisted as he cautiously rested his head atop of Alfred's head and inhaled, closing his eyes. "Not same at all. Yoo do not understand. Idiot."

Alfred looked up, eyes angry. "Ya wanna piece of me?"

Ivan just squeezed again. "Da. I want piece of idiot."

Alfred started struggling. "Then lemme go, and we'll go…we'll go manno ta manno, jerk! Lemme at ya!"

"Nyet," sighed Ivan, sounding tremendously sad, hold not breaking even as Alfred shoved at his neck. "Nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Coz, coz, you know." Ivan bared his teeth. "You will go back to her, and I do not like that."

"The fuck are you—" Alfred swallowed when Ivan suddenly looked enraged. He started to rant.

"Mei-Mei this, Mei-Mei that, pretty, isn't that Mei-Mei! I hate Mei-Mei! So pretty and nice and liked you, but she's a dirty liar and I don't wanna give you to her!" Ivan crushed the bewildered boy to his chest. "Mei-Mei is awful person. I want to be Mei-Mei."

"Ya wanna be an Asian girl, buddy?" Alfred sounded bewildered. "Um…"

Ivan shook his head, silver hair flying. "Nooooo. Mei-Mei so lucky. Not fair." A tear raced down his face, and Alfred's eyes widened as they continued to come. Ivan violently scrubbed at his face. "Not fair," he repeated, looking for all the world like a sad little child. "Your fault."

Alfred uncertainly scrubbed a tear away. "What's…what's Mei-Mei got ta do with…with anything?" Mei-Mei had been the pretty young Sophomore Alfred had gone to Junior prom with last year. Alfred had liked her; she seemed a little standoffish but other than that was nice enough. He had been the envy of all the boys in the locker room and lingering doubts about his sexuality had quickly expired. They had dated for a couple weeks after prom, only for Alfred to be dumped one day out of the blue. She'd simply shown up to school with a new designer bag, bluntly broke the boy's heart, and strode away. Rumor had it that she had found a rich older boyfriend.

"Everything," said Ivan mournfully. "I cried like girl. I still cry like girl. Never 'nough. Sucks, like you say. Can't get what I want. Never. Never. Bad. So bad. Mama not like me anymore and you not like me anymore."

The two spent another moment in stillness. After awhile, Alfred shakily got up and helped his brother into one of the sleeping bags, trying to drag bag and all to the tent. Ivan stumbled as he got up to help. When Mattie was safely in the tent, the two wandered back towards the flames, bumping into each other repeatedly.

"I wish," Ivan slurred when they sat down, "That we did not have to grow up and marry. I want…want things ta stay same. Won't find anyone who makes me laugh."

"Ya will," mumbled Alfred, almost inaudibly. "Ya will."

Ivan shrugged miserably.

"No. No, you don't…don't even, I die alone."

"Never."

"I die alone."

"_Hic!_ You-you-you're fucking…fucking great," muttered Alfred, awkwardly slapping Ivan's shoulder with more force than strictly necessary. "If…if I were…if y'know, and stuff, I'd….I'd for totes want you, man. For totes, totes."

Ivan turned to give Alfred a very hard look.

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

Alfred just smiled and leaned forward.

"Kiss."

Another owl hooted in the distance. Ivan laughed shakily.

"W-what?"

"C'mon, then," insisted Alfred, pulling Ivan's cheeks towards him. "Kiss me. We've done it before."

"Nyet." Ivan tried to tug himself back, but Alfred's grip was too strong, and his own resolve weak. Alfred settled himself back into his lap, and clumsily patted his cheek.

"Kiss me. Please. Not such a bad…not such a bad kisser, sure. I bet. Kiss."

"Stop," Ivan breathed, though his arms were twisting over the shorter male's body, feeling every line of Alfred pressed against him.

The blonde just looked up at him expectantly, glasses sliding off. Ivan angrily seized them and threw them into the grass. Before the blonde could protest, Ivan seized the sides of Alfred's face and tugged him close.

"I show you what I mean," said Ivan unhappily, yanking Alfred into a kiss.

At first, Alfred's mouth was unresponsive. Then, the boy let out a guttural moan and his lips slowly melted against Ivan's, hot tongues slowly sliding against each other into a smooth, sensual stroke rather than a fight for dominance. Their sighs meshed, and Ivan's thumb rubbed circles over Alfred's cheekbone, even as his best friend's fingertips startled tangling in his beige-blonde hair.

As Alfred's tongue languidly began to caress the soft side of Ivan's mouth, the Russian hissed loudly, unconsciously grinding his hips against the other boy's. Alfred threw his head out and let out a keening sound, which only continued as Ivan moved his mouth down from Alfred's lips, leaving little nips and kisses down the boy's neck, greedy for more skin.

But when Ivan bit down on Alfred's pulse point, desperate to leave a mark, the boy's eyes flew open and Ivan was distraught when Alfred staggered away.

"Noooooo!" he exclaimed, tears running down his face. "Noooo, no more. No more. No Hic! Hickeys! That's not…I'm not….nooo…." And for whatever reason, Alfred started to shake with sobs.

Ivan just stared at him wild-eyed, face flushed, hair a mess. But he slowly stood up, nearly tripping over the dying embers. He shakily managed to wind his arms around the crying Alfred, squeezing him close.

"Let's go to sleep," he breathed into what he hoped was Alfred's ear. Alfred stiffened and tried to pull away."

"But I…"

"Go to sleep," Ivan insisted, cutting Alfred off with another kiss, dragging him down with him to their sleeping bag. "Shhh. _Ya lyublu tebya_, Alfredka. It will be…be all good in the morning."

He heard a choked sob answer him in the dark.

~*oOo*~

When faint rays of warm sunshine started to fall on Ivan, he cringed and shrank down in his bag, letting out a groan of pain as his head stung sharply in agony. Oh, God, what had happened last night? He remembered passing around a bottle….Matthew had been a lightweight….and Alfred…he and Alfred had….

Ivan shook wildly, his heart feeling ready to explode out of his chest. Oh, God. Oh, God. What had happened? What had he done? Alfred had cried…and so had he….and he had said the unthinkable…

He felt a warm body shift against him and his eyes flew open. With a gasp, Ivan popped his head out of the sleeping bag, only to find the cold, pincer-like eyes of his little sister looking back at him.

"Good morning, brother," she said with all the sweetness and poison of windshield wiper fluid. "Why did you try to go camping without me?

Alfred was gone.

~*oOo*~

* * *

**Well now. O.O This…is an unexpected turn of events. **

**Next chapter: Fracture. Or, for you more sentimental fans, The Sound of a Breaking Heart. Tootles! **


	9. Fracture

~*Chapter Eight: Fracture*~

**This chapter is rated for M for Mmmm, stuff. ^_^ Wish I could clarify right now, but you'll see later on what I mean. I get the feeling this chapter's gonna be a long one, but like I said, stuff happens so it's plot-relevant. **

**By the way, I really can't write…um…grown up super sexy fun stuff very well. *Blushes* Will do my best. **

**Will be at the bottom to talk your ear off, my lovelings! Please enjoy and review!**

~*oOo*~

* * *

Flashback: Twelve Years Ago

_"C'mon! C'mon! Or the King will find us!"_

_Two little boys raced through the forest, giggling and throwing glances behind their shoulders as if they truly expected an irate ruler to come crashing through the brush after them, waving a jeweled sword. Arthur grinned as his little brother dragged him in a zigzag line around the trees, and the older boy had to duck several times so that he didn't whack himself in the face with a low branch. "Alfred, I don't think King John would actually come after us," he commented as Alfred continued to drag him, huffing and puffing. It felt like his arm was about to come out of his socket, but he didn't care. "King John is lazy so he sends the Sheriff of Nottingham to chase after us with all the king's men. But they just wind up getting lost because the forest is a maze and we and our merry men know it better than anyone."_

_"Better 'en anyone," repeated Alfred proudly as the two stopped to take a rest, doubling over and gasping just for the sake of it. "But we still gots to be careful, Robin Hood. We don't wanna get caught, or else, uh…" _

_"Or else they'll put us in jail," said Arthur patiently as he plopped onto the sweet smelling grass with a sigh. "Thank you for reminding me, Little John."_

_Alfred screwed up his face in exasperation as he plopped down on his little behind. "I don't wanna be LITTLE John!" he protested. "Either I get to be Big John or Robin Good."_

_"Robin **Hood**," Arthur corrected. Alfred shrugged. _

_"Robin Good sounds more like a superhero name," he commented as he plucked a nearby daisy. Arthur propped himself up on his elbows as he watched his little brother spin the tiny flower beneath his pudgy fingertips. "Much better 'en Maid Martian."_

_"Maid **Marian**."_

_"Whatever. Why d'ya gotta make me girls all the time, Artie? You should be the lady this time, and I'll be Robin Good."_

_Arthur didn't think that was such a great idea, but he was startled when Alfred unexpectedly tucked the flower behind his ear. The little boy leaned back and grinned at his older brother, eyes sparkling. "Now you're a girl, you're a girl, you're a girl," Alfred sang, tapping his stunned sibling on the nose. "So now I have to fly you to safety, right?"_

_Arthur coughed and leaned back, feeling warmth pooling into his face. "U-uh," he stammered. "Robin Hood can't fly."_

_"Can he turn invisible?"_

_"In his own way."_

_"Can he run very fast?"_

_"He's quick, but it's not like he can run around the world in a minute."_

_Alfred looked disappointed. "Well, what does he_ do?"

_"He helps the poor and less fortunate," said Arthur simply, noticing the scowl that appeared on Alfred's face. "He helps those who can't help themselves. He's a good person but the king hates him for not following the unfair laws so he has his men chase him all the time."_

_"So he IS a hero!" crowed Alfred happily. "That's good. What else does he do?"_

_Arthur's hand wandered to the daisy still draped behind his ear. "W-well, he protects the Maid Marian and leads her to safety in the woods so that the king can't find her and drag her back."_

_"I can do that!" And Alfred was on his feet again in an instant, tugging impatiently at his big brother's hand. "C'mon, c'mon! Lesgo, Maid Martian, I'll save ya."_

_Arthur stumbled after his brother as the two hurried over to a nearby stream, finding a newly-fallen tree trunk lying across it. The younger Jones' eyes lit up with the prospect of adventure._

_"Let's go across it!"_

_Arthur swallowed. "Okay, but you have to let me carry you."_

_Alfred let out an exasperated puff of air. "Maid Martian doesn't do the carrying! I'll carry you," he said boldly, and Arthur smiled at his little brother's vain struggles to scoop him up. "Erff, you're heavy….well, howszis: Robin Good **pretends** to carry Maid Martian. Is that okay?"_

_"Yes." And so the two carefully wandered over the trunk—thankfully it was sturdy enough to hold their weight—their hands tightly grasping each other's. Soon the two were back on the trail, and Alfred was glancing up at his brother now and again, chest puffed out in pride._

_"We're almost there, Maid Martian," soothed Alfred, patting his brother's hand. "Ya don't have ta be scared or anythin'. You're safe with Robin Good."_

_Arthur was about to snap that he wasn't afraid of anything, but he felt the flower jostle against his skin as he ran and he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't long before Arthur's keen eyes saw something interesting. He pulled Alfred to a stop._

_"Hey…check it out."_

_Alfred curiously glanced over at what Arthur was pointing at, and his blue eyes about popped out of his head. "Wow! Artie, it looks like a little tunnel," he said excitedly, heading over to the little clearing in the dense coppice of leaves. "So cool! Art—uh, Maid Martian, lesgo inside! The sheriff won't find us inside there!"_

_"Like a big rabbit hole," murmured Arthur, eyeing the opening critically. "I'm not sure I'll fit…"_

_But Alfred had already fallen to his knees and was inching inside. "C'mon, buddy, just try it!"_

_Arthur shook his head, but he did bend down and begin to squeeze himself in. Alfred plodded again the thick undergrowth on all fours like a baby, but Arthur had to struggle a bit more to fit through. He had to admit the dark tunnel of fallen trees and moss did seem almost magical and mysterious with bits of light shining through the cracks, lighting the way through the damp wood and dark green leaves. Much to his annoyance he kept poking himself with briars and burrs stuck at his clean clothing. His face brushed through many musty old spider webs, and colorful insects gleamed in the small rays of sunshine like fabulous jewels, watching the brothers. _

_When he finally reached the end of the tunnel, Alfred had to help pull him out, and Arthur blinked as he felt his eyes accosted in sunshine again, glowing slightly through a light green canopy of leaves swaying gently in the breeze overhead. _

_Alfred stepped back, grinning at him amongst a cluster of wildflowers, his hair impossibly like candlelight against the overflowing blue sky. "Artie, this is soooo cool!" he crowed, falling onto his back and rolling back in forth in the grass. "It's like a secret fort, coz that tree's like a wall and that big tall grass over there is kinda like another wall and that humongo tree is like a ceiling! We could live here!"_

_"Silly, of course we couldn't." Arthur bent down to the sea of white daisies that were bobbing in the breeze, as if they were waving to him and his brother and sniffed them. "We'd need food and things, and this place could never keep out the rain."_

_"Yeah, yeah…" Alfred giggled. "So, Maid Martian, you're safe now. Uh, what am I s'posed to do with you now?"_

_Arthur said nothing for a moment. He had plucked a daisy from the earth and was now plucking each of its petals one at a time. "I suppose you kiss me and tell me everything's going to be okay."_

_Alfred made a face. "I have to kiss you? Really? Ew."_

_The green-eyed boy just nodded shakily, his hands trembling like mad. "Y-yeah. Unless you want me to be Robin Hood now and—"_

_"Fine," said Alfred with another huff, crawling over on all fours again to peck Arthur on the cheek. Alfred laughed and stood up._

_"Maid Martian, I have saved you and everything's gonna be fine! So yeah! We win! Yay!" he cocked his head, elation turning to confusion. "Hey, Artie, are ya okay?"_

_Arthur was still as a statue, wind still playing with his corn-colored hair. A soft blush grew on the child's face as he wrung his hands together, a small, shy smile beginning to grow on his face._

_"Yeah," he croaked after a minute, feeling as though someone had lit a thousand lanterns inside of him. "Everything's fine. We win." He fell back against the daisies with a triumphant smile, his own still tucked under his ear, hand hovering over the place where Alfred had kissed him, not quite daring to touch. _

_It was very nearly the happiest day of Arthur's life. _

~*oOo*~

"I don't believe this," Ivan said fretfully to a groaning Matthew, his fingertips massaging his throbbing temples. "He just left? Without a word?"

The young man winced at Ivan's loud voice, shrugged, and shuffled to his feet, face scrunching up at the sunlight streaming into his face. He blindly fumbled for his glasses, which had fallen off sometime during the night. "I don't…I don't remember much," he admitted hoarsely, finally scooping his glasses on and blinking several times. "I think I puked sometime during the night and said some things, but things just kind of turn into a blur from there…but I'm pretty sure I saw Al," he said finally, a faint hint of lucidity entering his bloodshot eyes. "He poked me awake sometime really early this morning."

"What did he say?" Ivan demanded. Natalya raised a brow.

"Does it matter, brother?" she asked in a tight voice, straightening her skirt and reluctantly sitting down upon a damp log. Ivan sent her an incredulous look.

"Of course it matters! If Alfred inebriated, he might have wandered off. Gotten lost!" Ivan slammed his shaking fist against his knee. He cast an infuriated look at his sister, who was innocently observing the late morning sky above them. "Natalya, did you play a trick on Alfred? Lead him far away from here?" It was cold in these parts, and there were reported sightings of dangerous creatures in the woods! Alfred could have gotten sick….or hurt….

The thirteen year old girl sent a reproachful look in Ivan's direction. If the sixteen year old didn't know better, he'd almost say she looked hurt. "Followed your tracks and came to find big brother alone in sleeping bag, whimpering," she said tightly, flicking a spider on the log with her ring finger. "I crawl in with him and brother stops pining. No sign of your stupid friend."

"Natalya," said Matthew with a cross look. "That really isn't nice. Al could be in serious trouble right now. Are you absolutely sure you didn't pass him—maybe he wandered off to the woods early this morning just to look around?"

Natalya's eyes narrowed as she looked at Alfred's twin as though he were a slug or some other sort of distasteful creature. Ivan dully thought through the sharp pain in his head that Natalya considered any one of the Jones—even a former one—just bad news. "I am sure," she said slowly and loudly, in case Matthew were hard of hearing. "Finally found big brother after long night and early morning of hiking. No one else here."

"Mama is going to kill you," Ivan hissed. "If **I** don't first. Natalya, how the _hell_ did you find us?"

"I told you, I walked along the woods until I found the car, and then I looked for footprints." Natalya reached into her pocket and pulled out a flashlight, turning it off and on. "Aren't you glad, Ivan? Now it will be weekend of just two of us." Her slender arms wrapped around Ivan's bulky one, and the young Russian man looked towards Matthew imploringly, but Alfred's twin just shrugged and took a few steps back—he somewhat valued the use of his limbs.

"I remember Al sounded pretty upset….he said he wanted to go home and he wouldn't tell me when I asked why…." His brow creased and the blonde bit his lip, deep in thought. "I tried to get up but he just kept pushing me down, kept insisting he was fine, that he would find his own way back…then all of a sudden, he was gone, I fell over in the tent, and I guess I just fell asleep again." The tips of Matthew's ears burned red. "Shame it wasn't Francis…he can hold more liquor than a chimney can hold smoke," he joked feebly, uneasiness crossing his features.

His hands immediately started fumbling for his pants pockets, and he sighed in relief when there heard a faint jingle. "Well, at least Alfred wasn't dumb enough to try and take the car…but how the hell did Alfred think he was going to get back home? He doesn't have his bike, and Arthur doesn't have a car!"

Ivan bit the inside of his mouth so hard he tasted what seemed like rust. "Did he mention me at all?" he asked nervously, ignoring his little sister's attempts to drag him off to the woods. "Did he try to wake me, or ask about me, or tell me to call him?"

Mattie looked down and shrugged. "I…I don't know, Ivan," he said honestly. "But did you and Al get into an argument or something? He's been talking our ears off about this weekend for days now…"

"I-I do not know," Ivan stammered. "I do not think so….Perhaps you can try to call?"

"Good idea." Mattie whipped out his cell phone and cringed when he looked at the screen. "No bars…we'll have to walk back to the road. With any luck Alfred was so wasted he just spent the night in there." He began to stride away from the clearing, and Ivan strode in quick pursuit. Natalya was making a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue, sullen at Ivan's heels.

"We might have to search for him," said Ivan urgently as they trudged their way through the bushes, Ivan and Matthew stumbling every now and again. "We can arrange a search party, split up and comb the woods. If we do not find him then, I think we should call the police."

Natalya let out a derisive sniff. "He is probably just fine. Serves him right for getting lost to begin with."

Ivan gave the girl a dirty look. "Natalya, go home if you are going to be like that."

"Then you must come home with me."

Ivan swore in Russian as they approached the car, though there was no sign of Alfred. Matthew let out a slight sight of relief however when he looked at his phone again. "Got at least one bar…hopefully the numbskull didn't leave without taking his phone. Here goes." Matthew dialed the number and held it to his phone. Ivan waited with baited breath, but the look of disappointment on Matthew's face was answer enough. "Just voicemail….lemme try one more time."

Suddenly, Matthew's phone started to ring, and the young man scrambled to answer it. Ivan felt weak at the knees with relief. Natalya looked almost disappointed as Matthew answered his phone.

"Al!" exclaimed the young Bonnefoy, but he immediately cringed as Ivan faintly heard a piercing voice on the other end, even at his distance. "O-oh….um…good m-morning, Arthur."

Oh, dear. Ivan flinched. If an irate Arthur was on the phone wanting to speak to Alfred and Alfred was nowhere to be found….well, Ivan wouldn't have to worry about that hypothetical kiss anymore, because he would be pushing up daisies. But Matthew quickly resolved Ivan's fears.

"Alfred's with you? Is he alright?" Ivan closed his eyes and smiled. "No, I don't know any reason why he wouldn't be…can I speak with him?" Matthew held the phone away from his ear. "Arthur, please don't bite my head off….I swear, nothing happened last night…..YES, it was just the two of us….no, I have no reason to lie to you…."

Ah, brotherly love. Ivan's heart twisted in pain for Matthew as he got more and more upset.

"Well, what's wrong?" asked Matthew fretfully. "Why won't he come out of the bathroom? Is he sick?"

Ivan would have dearly loved to wrench the phone out of his hands, but Natalya was keeping him rooted to the ground. As he struggled for freedom, Matthew continued to argue with his elder brother, anger and hurt appearing on his features.

"Arthur, I'm your brother too, y'know. AND Alfred's, for that matte. If something's wrong with Al, I've got a right to know….what? Well, why didn't you just say that earlier? If he's okay, he's okay. Why are you answering his phone? Do you have any idea just how _weird_ that is? Look, Alfred gave us a real heart attack last night, so tell him Ivan and I are coming up to give him a piece of our—"

Suddenly, Matthew's mouth became a big O of horror, and Ivan buried his face in his hands. "N-No, Ivan didn't come here with us!" he said hastily. "I-I-I only called him when I c-couldn't find Alfred, and he agrees will, so I would—Arthur, **wait**!"

Matthew swore quietly as he hung up his phone, sending a despondent look in the Braginski siblings' direction. "Well, we can either call it quits and pack up now or stay. Personally, um, I think I might bounce, if that's okay."

"Da," said Ivan unhappily. It wasn't as if he didn't like Matthew, but it certainly wouldn't be the same without Alfred there. "I suppose there's no way of ah, springing Alfred, is there?"

"Not in hell," said Matthew sadly, trudging back to the site. "Arthur'll bring out the medieval flail if we try so much as calling him—probably the reason why the possessive jerk is on Al's cell. I'm sure we'll get the whole story when we see him at school."

There was no way in hell that Ivan was going to wait that long.

~*oOo*~

Alfred wasn't certain how he'd found his way back, exactly. He remembered waking at the darkest hour just before dawn with a splitting headache, and turning to look at Ivan, who was cuddled against him, arms wrapped tightly around him. Then, there had been the terror and confusion and sheer relief when he discovered their clothes were still on.

But he'd had to leave. Then and there. He couldn't explain why, but fear had enveloped him so badly that Alfred had blindly wriggled his way out of the warm bag (God, but it WAS chilly outside) and had blindly packed his things (probably accidentally packed a bunch of rocks and sticks too, from the feel of it), and wandered away from the campsite after telling Mattie his plans. He'd hesitated over Ivan, who was now making a few snuffling sounds in his sleep, and Alfred thought of kissing him goodbye.

The fact that the idea went through his head made him feel more ready to puke then he already was, which was saying something. He'd zipped Ivan up nice and toasty in the bag before he crept out, feeling scared and ashamed and whatever as he felt his way through the dark woods, tripping and slipping several times. It was awhile before he found the road again, and while he knew it would take over two hours to get home by foot, he was almost glad of it, though he had a heavy knapsack to carry and it was freezing out.

The cold cut through his skin, through his murky thoughts and memories. As he walked on Alfred began to remember being in Ivan's lap as his best friend kissed him, had his teeth at his neck….

His hand wandered over to his throat and the boy immediately froze. God, he wished he had Ivan's old scarf….he wrapped an extra sweatshirt around his neck and walked on, fishing around his pockets for bus fare.

~*oOo*~

Arthur took another swig of coffee, shuddering at the taste. Ugh, he truly hated the stuff, but tea wouldn't especially help him stay awake right now. He'd already read this chapter but there was no point in going to sleep now. The bed would only seem too big and too quiet and sleep would be nearly impossible. He sorely regretted letting his brother go.

The man heard the door open and slam shut. Startled, he rose from his desk and peeked out, only to see Alfred at the door with his knapsack, expression impassive.

"Alfred! You're home early!" exclaimed Arthur in relief as Alfred let his bags drop and warily kicked off his muddy shoes. Arthur's smile turned into a puzzled frown when he got a better look at the taller sibling, who had the arms of a sweatshirt tied around his neck. He didn't still play superhero, did he? "You're shaking like a leaf, love…you didn't catch cold, did you?" He tentatively reached out to touch Alfred's forehead, but the teen just batted his brother's hand away, looking sick.

"Please don't touch me," Alfred begged as he stumbled to the bedroom

"Alfred? Alfred, what's wrong?" Arthur hurried after him and caught hold of his arm. Alfred only pushed him aside, still refusing to make eye contact.

"Why are you home early? Don't get me wrong—I'm delighted to see you," added Arthur hastily as Alfred peeled his wet clothes off of him, and Arthur looked away with a blush. "But you've been looking forward to this forever….did you change your mind? Forget some homework? Have a fight with Matthew?" Alfred said nothing. He only wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to the bathroom.

"Alfred?" asked Arthur as the door closed, truly getting worried. "What happened? Oh, for goodness' sake—" He rapped his knuckles on the door, but there was no response. "Al! Do not make me call Matthew!"

Steam began to waft underneath the door. "Do you even know his number?" Alfred's voice was tired, dull. Arthur bit his lip, but then spotted Alfred's abandoned phone, and scooped it up.

"Of course I do," Arthur lied, scrolling through Alfred's list of contacts. "Did Matthew drop you off here?"

A blank silence. Then, "Took a bus home. It's…it's no big deal, Artie. Leave me alone."

Arthur's eyes hardened to two balls of steel.

"A bus?" Alfred had walking alone in the dark? Oh, he was going to murder Matthew when he next saw him! "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."

He heard a dry sob and Arthur started ramming at the door with all his might. "By bloody hell Alfred, do NOT make me break this door down!" he cried as Alfred began to cry. "WHAT happened? Why the **hell **did you think it was alright for you to do such a thing? You know the STATE could have taken that as negligent parenting on my part! What is WRONG with you, Alfred? Do you WANT to get dragged away for two years? Huh?"

Deathly silence. Arthur slumped down on the floor, knowing that Alfred couldn't hide forever. But as hour after hour went by, it seemed he very well intended to.

~*oOo*~

The phone rang early afternoon and Arthur discovered Matthew hadn't even known that Alfred had left. Some brother HE was. He sounded quite hoarse, as if he'd been drinking. Perhaps he'd tried to induce Alfred to do the same and THAT had led to an argument? Alfred remained silent despite Arthur's pleading.

The possibility of Ivan being there with Alfred in the middle of the woods had Arthur's teeth grinding as he continued to wait, trying to read another textbook near the bathroom door.

At one, the doorbell rang and Arthur reluctantly went to answer it. What he saw—or rather, who he saw made his heart twist in anger. "Braginski."

Ivan glared at him, but kept his composure.

"I want to see Alfred. We had….we had…a misunderstanding at school yesterday and I want to clear it up."

A mean smile appeared on Arthur's face. True to prediction, Ivan broke Alfred's heart again. If he didn't have his beloved to look after, Arthur would have fished the gun out of the closet and shot him then and there.

"He doesn't want to see you." He tried to close the door, but the Russian stuck his foot in it.

"You mean YOU don't want me to see him," argued Ivan, his purple eyes flashing. Arthur sent him a hideous look.

"He doesn't want to see anyone. Not even me." Disbelief crept into his voice. "I swear Braginski, by my mother's grave, if you were the one to have done this to him, I will slit you throat."

Ivan looked distressed. "W-what's wrong? What happened? Where is Alfred?" he tried to peer over Arthur, as if hoping for a glimpse of the younger sibling. "Is he hurting? Why is—"

Arthur slammed the door in his face, and despite the fact that Ivan slammed his fist on the door and rang for over an hour, Arthur would not unturn the bolt. He returned to the bathroom door, waiting impatiently for his sweet brother to come out.

~*oOo*~

Later that evening, Alfred finally stepped out. Arthur was so relieved he didn't ask questions; he just wrapped his arms around his silent brother and led him to the bed before bustling off to the kitchen to make soup, leaving Alfred to stare outside the window, his eyes tremendously sad and confused.

"Are you feeling any better?" asked Arthur gently as he stepped inside their little bedroom after awhile, holding a steaming tray.

Alfred's dull eyes flicked from the window to his brother and then back again to the late evening sky. The hope in Arthur's eyes turned to frustration, and the elder brother set down the tray on the bed with a sigh. "Well, nevertheless, you have to eat something," he said crisply. "Come here, poppet." He sat down and patted the space next to him welcomingly.

"I'm not hungry." Alfred's lips barely moved as he spoke. Arthur huffed in irritation, patience clearly waning.

"Don't care. Don't make me come over there and feed you myself." When Alfred didn't move, Arthur merely scooted across the bed with the dinner tray to Alfred's side. The younger Jones' sibling got a whiff of what was in the bowl, and faintly felt a bit of relief—at least the contents had been burned again, so the food wouldn't taste _too_ bad. "You think I'm kidding? Come over here, love."

Alfred didn't want to move at all, but at Arthur's prodding, lifted his head ever so slightly and found it being placed tenderly in his brother's lap, against the comforting warm tweed of Arthur's slacks. His glasses slid off his nose, and he watched Arthur remove and place them on their old bedside table. Shortly afterwards Arthur placed the warm spoon at his lips and Alfred halfheartedly tried to bat it away—he was _not _a sick little kid anymore!—but Arthur persistently tapped it against his mouth.

"Come on, baby, just a little. I'm not leaving you alone until you finish at least half of this." Arthur tutted fussily.

Alfred tried to reach for the spoon, but Arthur seemed quite content with feeding him the burnt soup himself, so he let his brother at it for a few moments, trying to muster the energy to be annoyed at the fact Arthur was letting out little coos and clucks of encouragement, his hand stroking though Alfred's hair.

When the soup was a third gone, Alfred rolled away, staring at the cracked ceiling overhead. He saw his brother's thick brows furrow in disapproval, so he asked his question quickly to distract him:

"Arthur, what's love?"

It was rare that he ever saw his brother at a loss for words, but Arthur certainly appeared quite tongue-tied now. The young man swallowed and turned red, placing the spoon back in the bowl and twiddling his fingertips, taking a sudden interest in his loafers.

"Why, what's this all about, Alfred? You aren't thinking about Mei-Mei again, are you?" Arthur's normally pleasant voice was sharp with suspicion, and Alfred wearily shook his head and reluctantly sat up.

"Artie, did you love Amelia?"

Arthur started; that hadn't been what he'd expected to hear at all. "Well, I, ah, you realize that's very…Al, that's ancient history…so why are you asking?" he queried feebly, letting out what very much seemed to be a forced laugh. Alfred's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"C'mon, Artie, I just need to know: Did you love Amelia?"

Amelia had been the only girl Arthur had ever brought home for Alfred to meet. Alfred had liked her very much, considering how much they had in common—heck, they had even _looked_ kinda similar to each other—but either Arthur ended it or Amelia had two months after they started going out together; he wasn't sure which. Alfred never learned the whole story, considering how loathe Arthur was to even discuss it. He'd assumed that they'd gotten in some nasty, big blow-out fight and couldn't stand to relive the details.

Arthur let out a long sigh. "I liked her very much. More than I've liked anyone in a very long time."

"But did you love her?" Alfred pressed. Arthur bit his lip.

"….I wouldn't call what we had between us real _love_, Alfred," he admitted, and Alfred's shoulders fell in disappointment. Fat help that was.

"Is that why you ended it?"

"It was a mutual sort of thing." Arthur huffed and folded his arms. "She wanted to spend more time together; I thought she was being unreasonable, especially when I was trying to study for midterms. She said she didn't feel a genuine "bond" between us—thought that I was just trying to use her as a replacement for someone."

"Dude, is that true?" breathed Alfred, interest recaptured. Arthur snorted, looking away.

"Don't be daft. Of…of course not. I felt that Amelia was far too needy, too suspicious, too jealous and too much a distraction when I was trying to pass all my classes and look after you at the same time. She wanted something more than I could offer her. So we ended it. It's as simple as that."

Alfred inwardly cussed. Great. More guilt. His brother could easily be enjoying himself with a perfectly nice young lady right now, but because of his damn sense of _responsibility_…"Do you miss her?"

"Not really." Arthur gave him a kind, albeit tired smile. "All my energy goes into loving you."

Alfred went red and let out a uneasy chuckle. "Dude, that's way overdoing the whole 'guardianship' junk. What would your parenting magazines say about over-coddling?"

"I don't read those, I just skim!" snapped Arthur. "But why did you ask about the whole—"

Alfred's face fell back into unhappiness, and Arthur hated it. "Artie, I'm…there's something wrong with me," he confessed, drawing his knees together and hugging them close, his head done.

"What is it?" asked Arthur urgently, rubbing his shoulders. "What hurts?"

Alfred's eyes started to leak, and the young man started scrubbing at them. "Everything." He gratefully took the handkerchief Arthur offered him and buried his face in it. "I'm a sicko. I'm a _freak_." I think I like something I shouldn't, and I….oh, God, Artie, I feel so freaking messed up inside. I don't wanna tell you any more than that because you'll hate me if I tell you."

"Shhhh," murmured Arthur, squeezing his brother's shoulders. Inwardly, he felt a sense of weariness. Another girl? Mei-Mei had been difficult enough to pay off to leave Alfred alone—he hoped he didn't have to empty his wallet again. "You'd be surprised. You can tell your Arthur anything, Alfred. I could never hate you." He kissed Alfred on the crown of his head. "Never."

Alfred sniffed, his blue eyes still dull with misery. But now the slightest ray of hope flashed in them—a silver lining.

"Have you ever….been in love yourself?" Arthur blinked, flushing hot again.

"I…suppose," said Arthur hesitatingly. Oh, this sounded expensive. He'd had to give Mei-Mei a bag, that other bitch a pair of sandals…but if Alfred was truly besotted…jealousy rose in him like a serpent. _Doesn't mean anything, he's just a boy, just a boy._

"What's it like?"

"It's a strange poignancy," Arthur admitted thoughtfully, hugging one of his own knees to his chest as Alfred turned to gaze at him.

"In my experience, it's wonderful and terrible all at once; I had the great fortune and misfortune of being smitten for someone completely unobtainable. I yearned for them, thought about them nearly every night, every morning, every afternoon. It's sweet and selfish and giving and all-consuming, but it was mostly just a lot of heartache because while I could be with this person quite often, I could never…." Arthur swallowed heavily. "Be with them."

"Why not?" Alfred's eyes were huge and his voice was lined with pity.

"Just because. It's complicated." Arthur's voice came out more bitter than he expected it to. Alfred hugged an arm around his shoulders.

"Artie, that sounds like love."

"Yes," the man choked out. "I suppose it is. But it doesn't matter, because I care about this person's happiness too much to confess my feelings. It's better if I keep a respectful distance, because society would certainly not…do them any favors."

Alfred's eyes lit up with understanding. "Is this girl someone really wealthy or something?" Alfred let out a noncommittal snort. Alfred sighed. "I think….when I think of this person, my heart starts hurting lately," he admitted sadly, plopping back on the bed. "But they've been there for me for such a long time, and I just want to KEEP being with them every day. They make me feel good about myself. They make me feel like I can do anything." A tear raced down his face. "I want to hold their hands and have them tell me they love me. I want to do stupid shit with them and laugh about it afterwards. I know I'm just a kid, but I…I can't even GET close to them without….." Alfred shook his head, more tears spilling down his long face. "God, I've never felt this way about anyone before."

He turned to Arthur, who looked thunderstruck.

"What do you think I should do? Keep my distance? Because society REALLY wouldn't do them any favors if we DID by some miracle manage to have a relationship either," he said honestly. He cocked his head curiously. "Artie? Um, are you…are you okay?"

Arthur nodded, grabbing the handkerchief away from Alfred and wiping at his sweaty brow.

"You never do know, Alfred. They might feel the same way about you—be willing to endure being outcasts with you." A small, dazzling smile appeared on Arthur's face.

"If the person I loved confessed to me today….I don't mind telling you I would be overjoyed. And even if you are rejected," said Arthur, placing his hands over Alfred's and bringing them up. "You can at least say you tried and not lay awake at night asking yourself 'what if.'"

Alfred just looked at him and smiled in such a way Arthur's heart took off into the night sky. "…thanks bro," he said affectionately, bringing Arthur into a hug the man tried to prolong. Pulling himself away, Alfred just looked at Arthur, light sparkling in his eyes.

"I gotta bounce," said Alfred cheerfully to his baffled brother. "Really quickly, okay?"

"It's late—"

"Pshaw, it's only six o'clock! I need to run a quick errand. I'll be back at my curfew at eight," he promised. "I just….I just need to go on a walk, think things over."

"…all right…."

"You're the best, Artie!" With that, Alfred pecked him on the forehead and raced out. Arthur blinked.

"W-wait! Take an umbrella with you! It looks like it might rain!"

"Cool! I will!" And the door slammed shut, so Arthur was left alone and confused in the bedroom, trying to figure out what had just occurred.

~*oOo*~

Ivan quietly picked through the flower stems at the florist shop, feeling like an absolute idiot. He'd called Alfred nine times that day, but none of his calls had been returned or any messages replied to. Fear and guilt bubbled inside of him, a truly nasty concoction as Ivan tried to think of the right words he'd use to beg for mercy with when he saw Alfred again. _We were drunk, we were drunk, I'm so sorry, please forgive me_—the idea that Alfred would shun him again was hell.

Ivan felt his lips as his gaze fell on red roses—overdone—and daisies—too simple. Perhaps it was a terrible idea to give Alfred flowers, considering the circumstances. It wasn't as though his plan to give Alfred chocolate all those years ago had gone so hot; he'd only been incredibly lucky that Alfred happened to be an angel. But he wanted to give him something strong, something pretty, something precious. Considering Ivan couldn't afford a diamond ring—and even HE knew just how wrong that would be—he'd wound up in the town's florist shop.

Ivan passed through a section of sunflowers and stopped, a smile appearing on his face as he took in the flower's tough stems and bright petals. He almost reverently reached out to touch one, smiling at its fuzziness.

How it reminded him of Alfred! His face fell and Ivan felt sick inside that he would probably never, ever be able to give flowers to Alfred without seeming like a fool. There was hope of them ever coming to be; they could only be best friends with obsessive siblings, and considering just how much joy he'd brought into Ivan's life, he supposed that would have to. He could only offer his apologies to Alfred when he went to see him again; no gifts. There could only be desolation if Alfred ran away from him in horror and disgust. Total desolation.

But Ivan still wanted sunshine in his home, so he purchased a large bouquet of sunflowers. He stepped outside the shop and frowned at the dark clouds overhead. Perhaps if he hurried he could beat the rain and avoid hurting his precious sunflowers….

**"Hey!"**

Ivan's head swiveled around; Alfred was beaming at him from across the street, eyes bright. Ivan laughed in relief and waved back.

"Privyet, Alfredka!" he exclaimed as Alfred hurried across the street over to him, and Ivan tried to keep the huge grin blossoming on his face into a small, nonchalant smile and failed miserably. "I am happy to see you! Why on Earth did you—" he stopped and his face turned pink. _He is willing to talk to you, perhaps he doesn't remember, shut up idiot boy! "_I hope you are feeling better. I hope you are feeling better." _So much better, because I love you._

"Yeah….fancy meeting you here." Alfred seemed to wince a little, as if he recognized the sheer lameness in his words. Ivan just smiled at it.

"You too," said Ivan quietly, plodding closer to Alfred. The boy took notice of the sunny bouquet clasped in Ivan's arms. "Those look nice."

"These?" Ivan asked hastily. "These are for—" A large crack of light appeared in the sky, and a thundering **_BOOOOOM!_** Answered. Both boys jumped, and Alfred laughed.

"Can I walk you home?" offered Alfred, extending his umbrella. Ivan's face lit up.

"That is kind of you! But only if you do not mind."

"'Course not. S'only a little ways away."

"Then I accept. Thank you, kind sir."

Alfred playfully punched him in the shoulder, the way he always had, and the two started walking together. It wasn't long before the first heavy raindrops began to _plip, plip, plip_ on the back of the umbrella, and the boys' shoes were soon splashing through tiny puddles.

"Is lucky you came when you did," commented Ivan cheerfully, thinking that the worst was over. Alfred just shrugged and smiled.

Ivan waited for Alfred to start swapping jokes with him, but the boy remained silent, and Ivan's fear returned to him. As they walked together, Alfred at last spoke, his voice tight and small.

"We…we really got wasted last night, didn't we?"

"Da," agreed Ivan, his chest pulling itself into unpleasant knots. "I suggest we do not try it again next week."

"But maybe the week after next?" asked Alfred jokingly. Ivan could not answer and the two fell into an uneasy silence. At last, when Ivan could not take it any longer, he asked, hesitantly:

"What….do you remember? I remember….flashes…." _Every bit of me holding onto you._

Alfred looked down.

"What does 'ya lyubyu tebya' mean in Russian?"

Ivan's stomach turned to ice. Oh, God. Oh, God. He swallowed and gripped for Alfred's hand.

"W-why? W-what do you remember? If I….if I did or said anything foolish, I beg for you to forgive me, I was drunk and didn't—I swear I didn't mean—"

Alfred stopped dead in his tracks, distress and mortification appearing on his face. He blurted out just as Ivan opened his mouth to plead:

_"I'm so damn sorry I told you to kiss me, I just—"_

_"I told you I love you but I really—"_

Alfred's breath hitched, and Ivan's died away. The two couldn't bear to look at each other for a moment. Ivan felt something inside of him ache softly. Alfred was sorry for it. Of course it was just a mistake done out of drink.

"God," breathed Alfred, moving a hand through his hair, smiling sadly. "We're both idiots."

"Idiots," Ivan agreed wholeheartedly. "But I do not mind being idiots with you. Never have," he added, somewhat wistfully, "And never will."

"So, uh, we're cool?" Ivan began walking again and Alfred scurried to keep up. He swore that for every one stride of Ivan's, Alfred had to make two.

"We are still friends, da? I would not jeopardize that for anything," said Ivan. Alfred looked up at him.

"…really?"

"Da," said Ivan again. They had reached his home, but Ivan's heart was still pounding a jagged, painful rhythm and he had to get the words out and confirm that there was no hope because his heart still did—"I-I mean, unless you wanted us t-to be more, which we can't, because you…I am sorry!" he stammered, wishing he would drop dead on the stop. "I…I did not mean…that is, I mean to say, I would never say that I do not like you very much, but I do not want to make you uncomfortable and please don't think me strange, I just—"

"Ivan?" asked Alfred. Ivan squeezed his eyes shut.

"Da, Alfredka?" rasped Ivan quietly, sounding ready to cry at his own stupidity.

There was very suddenly the impression of warmth brushing against his cold body, and Ivan's eyes flew open as he saw Alfred very close to his face, his warm breath intermingling with Ivan's.

"Shut up," breathed Alfred, and Ivan did as Alfred bode as the young blonde brought their lips together. The umbrella clattered to the ground as Ivan's arms swung about him, the Russian bending down to Alfred's level, his pale, pale hand brushing at Alfred's face, his lips so tenderly brushing against Alfred's. His heart could have exploded from sheer emotion and he wouldn't have noticed. So gently, so softly….the sunflowers fell at his feet as his hands groped for Alfred's, Alfred's warm, smooth hands slipping between his…

The two broke the kiss, Alfred's blue eyes shining, Ivan's heart singing in his chest.

And somewhere, covered up by the sound of thunder roaring its rage, a scream of agony broke out in the city.

~*oOo*~

_Flashback: Fourteen Years Ago_

_"Hey, what this, Artie, what this?" Alfred was patting at the front of his new overalls, looking at the smiling little shape at the chest with a button nose. Arthur looked up from his picture book. _

_"You know what it is, silly. It's a rabbit."_

_"Bunny!" exclaimed Alfred happily, petting it. "Know that, but how come it's like…"_

_Arthur took another look. "It's a pocket," he explained proudly, always happy to show off his knowledge to Alfred. "Like the ones Father has on HIS overalls when he tries to fix the car and can't and winds up calling someone else to do it. You put all your important things in a pocket."_

_"Everything important?"_

_"All your most important things," said Arthur, turning back to his book. Alfred considered him carefully._

_What happened next, Arthur did not expect. With surprising strength, the little boy grabbed Arthur by the hair and proceeded to try and smash his face inside. Arthur winced. _

_"Ow, ow, owowowowow!" Arthur squawked as his brother cheerfully kept yanking at his hair, trying to make his sibling fit. "Owwww! That's—owww! Why're you_ doing _that?"_

_"Important things go 'side, silly," muttered Alfred, letting Arthur go and considering his own little pocket with a shake of his head. "Don't think ya fit in there, so what good's havin' a pocket?"_

_That had been the happiest day of Arthur Jones' life. _

~*oOo*~

He had followed Alfred to the florist in case the boy got into trouble again, but he had seen hell. Ivan's lips on Alfred's, Alfred kissing Ivan, the two walking off _hand in hand_ together….

Arthur walked, but to where, he did not know; if he sought relief, he did not find it, if he sought to hurt, the dull pinpricks in his feet meant _nothing_, provided no distraction against the all-consuming _anguish _that could not be described, compared to any small injury Arthur Kirkland Jones might ever have suffered in his lifetime.

His heart had not been broken, the way it may or may not had when Stanley and Agatha died. It had not shattered. It had been destroyed, and now there was only angry nothingness in his chest cavity. He wondered why he did not die, considering every pulse the wretched organ sent through him almost resounded pain, pain, excruciating _pain_ and a bleak loneliness. His vision blurred, from rain or from tears, intermingling.

He fought to keep a screen of numbness draped around him to protect himself from the Horror, but he soon lost the ability to keep the unyielding beast reality out, and his dreams scattered away from him like fireflies from a jar into the rainy skyline.

His throat felt like it might tear, and he realized that he'd been screaming. Perhaps he was screaming still-perhaps that was the horrible noise filling up this deserted rainy block. The ground rushed up to meet him as the umbrella he'd brought with him flew out of his arms, and Arthur sobbed with the **unfairness** of it all, beating his fists on the puddled concrete below, over and over again—

_Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, little baby, my little baby, precious baby—_

He didn't know how long he stayed there. His feet began to move again at some point and Arthur let them carry him where they pleased, past a blur of blinking, unintelligible lights and buzzing noises, past a misshapen cluster of gray blobs which appeared to be melting in the rain, and past darkness, consuming blackness not broken by even a small lit streetlamp.

He wandered, but he couldn't tell if he was lost, couldn't care. His hand gripped around something that wasn't an umbrella, and Arthur finally discovered when he fell again and couldn't be bothered to get up that it was the neck of a bottle of whiskey. Where and how he had gotten this, he could not tell. He smashed the bottle open against a nearby railing and began to down the precious contents with the vigor of a starving infant who has finally found milk.

The young man staggered up a flight of steps he dimly recognized as his own, opened a door, and fell down on the bed, the bottle of amber-colored liquid slipping from his fingertips and landing on the floor as Arthur gladly tumbled into senselessness.

~*oOo*~

_He was outside quite the ruin of a motel. Arthur wrinkled his nose as he looked at the tacky, half-broken neon sign near the door. The place was probably filled with roaches and filth. _

_Suddenly, he heard laughing, and Arthur turned to watch Ivan Braginski tugging along Alfred, purple eyes glinting with some sort of insidious purpose. Alfred's eyes curiously fell on the ugly motel. "Iv? Hey Iv? How come we're here?"_

_Arthur tried to grab at him, but his hands merely went through his little brother, as if he were a ghost. Ivan smiled—a great, dumb, evil smile—and opened the door, pulling Alfred through by the hand. Like the devil, Arthur followed in after them, the door slamming shut and disappearing behind them. _

_He was in a dark hallway, and he could hear things scuttle in the darkness, disturbed by their presence. Something squelched underneath his feet as he moved noiselessly after Ivan, who was dragging Alfred through a dimly lit hallway with the wallpaper scratched and filthy and peeling, heading towards a room. Arthur cried out a warning, but they either didn't hear him or didn't care—Ivan wrenched open the door and Alfred flew in beside him. _

_That was when Arthur heard the horror:_

_"Ivan, Ivan, I—I don't think I'm ready for this—" Alfred's normally confident, lovely tenor voice became a panicky rush of terror. Arthur's blood went cold. _

_"But of course you are." Ivan's normally kind and mild voice had been improved to a sadistic, ravenous purr. "Don't be scared, da? Now, I want you to prove you love me and undress me now—"_

_"I don't want to—"_

_"You will—"_

_Arthur stared racing for the room, but the hallway began to grow longer and longer. The faster he ran, the longer it became, and soon the room at the end of the hall was far, far away, but not so far so that Arthur could not hear the shouts and cries for help:_

_"ARTIE! ARTHUR, WHERE ARE YOU, **WHERE ARE YOU**, I—**AAAAGGGHHHHH**!" A wail of despair. "I-Iv, I-I-Ivan, you're **hurting** me—"_

_"Better be quiet, da?" Ivan answered with faux kindness. "Or perhaps I will take a pipe to go into you next, da?"_

_Arthur let out a roar and ran with all his might, screams and moans bleeding in his ears and Arthur found himself in a very different hall, one belonging to the Braginskis, but the old-fashioned wallpaper was oozing a dark, shining red everywhere and Arthur was slipping in it as he turned around in a blind wreck, trying to find his little brother who was moaning Ivan's name somewhere in this dead house—_

_Ivan's head popped out of the wall and he looked the way Arthur had always seen him; hideous, grotesque, a large, crooked smile with several missing teeth on his face—it looked like one you would see on a rotting jack o'lantern's face. His hair was a graying, matted mess that clung to his skull in tuffs, and his eyes were a deep violet, violent and insane. There were horns coming out of his ears. The boy laughed. _

_Arthur screamed, though that just made the head laugh harder, and soon more Ivan heads were popping out and laughing hysterically at him as well, and before long there was a sea of laughter flooding into Arthur's ears as he tried to scratch them, to tear at them, to force them all **TO SHUT THE FUCK UP**—_

_He ran for his life, trying to block out that horrifying, grating sound, which made him think of metal rasping against dry bone—and soon found his hand arrested. He looked back in terror only to have his heart nearly fall out of him with relief; Alfred was running next to him, although his face was cocky, confidant, the normal boyish look that Arthur so dearly loved. He looked absolutely unaffected by the appalling nightmare around them, just trusting and at ease that big brother would show them the way out. Even when clawing hands reached out of the ceiling and attempted to seize them both, Alfred just laughed merrily. _

_ "We're almost there, you know," Alfred said comfortingly as Arthur yanked them out of harm's way, terrified for their lives. "You can relax, you know," said Alfred mildly as they fled down a flight of stairs that oozed with blood and violet eyes. "I'm safe with Robin Good."_

_Suddenly, out of the gloom, there came a door Arthur had not seen in years, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. It was his own bedroom door from when he had been very small, still living with his family. It was covered in childish scribbles of him and Alfred—Alfred liked to pin up his pictures on Arthur's door when there had been no room left on the refrigerator. _

_Arthur groped for the door even as the laughter became angry howls, and he managed to rip it open just in time before Ivan could chase after them. He pulled his little brother in after him, and slammed the door shut with his back, only to have it disappear into nothingness._

_He blinked, and looked around yet another familiar place. _

_They were not in Arthur's old room, but in the Secret Place that they had discovered when they were little, the one Arthur made Alfred promise not to tell anyone about, even Matthew. Nothing had changed, except for the fact that the daisies had somehow turned into hundreds of hundreds of orchids swaying placidly in the breeze. Flummoxed, Arthur sank to his knees, still breathing heavily._

_"I think we're safe here," he said with a sigh, leaning his head back and enjoying the sunshine, frowning as he felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck. His eyes fluttered open in shock, and the young man found Alfred sitting on his lap, eyeing him nonchalantly. "A—Alfred….?"_

_The boy just looked at him. Then, very softly and smoothly, as if he'd been planning this for years, he brought his lips to Arthur's and the shocked man felt his own moving underneath Alfred's naturally. He moaned and traced Alfred's perfect lips with agonizing slowness, longing to preserve the taste—but then Alfred let out a moan and his mouth was open game, tantalizingly hot and sweet against Arthur's, whimpering wantonly. _

_The blood boiled as it never had before; Arthur's hands dug themselves into Alfred's beautiful hair and coiled in the strands, yanking them close even as he tried to be gentle, because he was a good big brother and would never, ever hurt Alfred. He swiftly clasped the side of Alfred's head with his hand and crushed their faces together, lips meshing and melding together in sync, tongues battling each other for dominance, though Alfred quickly yielded. Soon enough Arthur had moved Alfred into a bed of spring grass, and his hands were roaming everywhere, everywhere they found more skin, because he had to have more of that silky skin underneath his fingertips, his roaming mouth which was on fire, his body which was seized by a desperate ache. He broke the kiss to move onto Alfred's neck, leaving openmouthed kisses anywhere he could, hearing Alfred whine and feeling him buck underneath him, trying to increase the friction between them—_

_"Oh, God," he heard Alfred whisper as his hands flew to Arthur's chest, their bodies grinding against each other as Alfred caressed Arthur's ribs, sensually rubbing them up and down as Arthur suckled Alfred's lip, returning to favor, caressing the inside of his mouth with his hot tongue._ Oh, God, better than I even imagined….

_He couldn't keep Alfred's hands off of his face, and the sweetness of the gesture almost brought tears to his eyes. His body began to ache and swell and throb with need, and Arthur shamefacedly pulled back, not wanting to hurt his little brother. But Alfred just sat up on his knees and his hands went for Arthur's jeans' button. _

_Arthur groaned, by no means wanting him to stop, but he still held Alfred's hands together. He tried to collect his breath, his heart racing. "S-stop," he warned shakily, though his vision was going hazy with lust. "I'm going to hurt you…"_

_"Don't care." Alfred wrapped a leg around him and groaned, while Arthur hissed at the beautiful friction between the two, every line of their bodies pressed against the other's, Alfred against Arthur's clothed bulge. Dazed, Arthur feebly shook his head. _

_"You don't know how much I want you…"_

_"So get inside me already," panted Alfred, wrapping his other leg around Arthur's waist and moving. A hot blush burned on Arthur's face as Alfred moved up and down over his clothed member. "I want you. Right now."_

_"But I'll hurt you."_

_"Don't care," repeated Alfred, wrapping his hands around Arthur's neck again and bringing the two siblings into another kiss. "I love you." His voice was soft, a butterfly's caress. _

_THAT did it—Arthur was immediately tearing off Alfred's clothes even as his fingers leapt for his buttons, nearly crying out in ecstasy as the two bodies were pressed against each other, bare and free, shining with sweat. Heat surged through Arthur, heat and want and instinct, and his hesitation went out the door. _

_"I love you too," Arthur whispered, nipping and sucking a path down Alfred's body, a trail of bites. His lips didn't stop when they reached Alfred's navel, going all the way down, down, down…._

_Alfred's eyes flew open and the boy let out a gasp, back arching off the ground as Arthur went down on him like a devout believer, suckling and licking and stroking, his hands firmly gripping Alfred's hips, leaving prints on the slightly tanned skin. He hummed around Alfred, watched his hands dig into the dirt, heard Alfred's moans, and swallowed him whole. Alfred's knees held his head there._

_He felt Alfred quivering around him and pulled away just before Alfred could reach total destruction. Arthur licked his lips as he heard him whine and pulled back, blindly dragging Alfred's legs around his waist, spitting into his hand and reaching for Alfred's entrance. He tentatively slipped a finger inside and shuddered at the warm, tight resistance, his entire body shuddering to be_ inside.

_He murmured sweet nothings as he placed another finger inside, searching. Even though Alfred winced, he still moved his hips into Arthur's hand—of course, who else could be so gentle?—as the man gently scissored, fingers searching inside. Suddenly, Alfred's eyes flew open, and he let out a sharp gasp._

_"Ah!"_

_Smiling smugly, Arthur continued to stretch his brother out, stroking that place whenever he thought Alfred's discomfort was becoming too much. But soon Alfred was whimpering in encouragement, and Arthur's erection became painful and heavy on his thigh._

_But of course he'd wait. He'd never want to hurt his sweet Alfred for anything. _

_"Alfred," he whispered as he withdrew, thrilling at the sound of Alfred protesting. "You love me more than you could ever love Ivan, right?" Jealousy embedded into his skin and soul like barbed wire. Alfred just looked up at him and smiled._

_"I could…never…love Ivan. All my energy goes into loving you." He pulled Arthur down into a kiss, and Arthur closed his eyes and very nearly wept. Energy surged in him, and he was desperate to push their bodies together, feeling Alfred's hot, silken, tight entrance slowly submerge over his stalk, and Arthur shuddered as he immediately speared him in one thrust. "Alfred!" His eyes rolled in ecstasy, hearing Alfred pant. "O-oh…"_

_"F-fuck…." Alfred threw his head back and Arthur immediately sat the boy up, tenderly cradling him in his arms as he brought the two together, Alfred's face buried in his neck. Catharsis rushed inside as he realized that he was truly inside Alfred now, never to be split from his dearest again. He clutched at Alfred's arms, wishing he could just melt into the boy's body._

_"M-move," grunted Alfred after a moment. "G-God, Arthur,_ m-move _already."_

_Arthur gladly obliged; he pulled out to the tip and slammed in once again making the two see stars. Groping hands found his shoulders, squeezing and pulling him close as he grunted with the impact of each pounding thrust, hearing Alfred answer him with gasps and cries of pleasure. He thrust in over and over again, Alfred's body swallowing and caressing his so lovingly, and deep, throbbing heat grew inside of him, eager for release, but he held it in check for as long as he could. When he rediscovered the basket of nerves that made Alfred cry out and his toes curl in pleasure, Arthur made sure to hit the basket nearly every time. _

_The pleasure only continued to rise, and Alfred wrapped his arms and legs around him as he rocked against Arthur, eyes lidded. _

_"Big bro, big bro, touch me," he pleaded, sliding down on Arthur's shaft and moaning loudly, his own weeping arousal forgotten. "Touch me, please…"_

_Arthur immediately obliged, caressing and stroking and rubbing and teasing and suddenly, Alfred tensed and cried out, his hot pleasure splattering against Arthur's body. Arthur began to move faster and faster, the fire building, Alfred's pleasure triggering his own glorious crash— _

_—and then his eyes flew open and the dream ended._

~*oOo*~

Arthur blinked at the sight of Alfred sleeping next to him, his mouth dry and tasting terrible, his stomach queasy, and his head aching horribly. For a wild moment, he wondered if what had happened in his dreams had truly come to pass, though it seemed most unlikely. Obviously not, there had been bloody hands reaching out of the walls. Perhaps Alfred was right, and he DID read too many scary stories.

He moved; he had an erection. His hands wandered over to his sleeping brother and immediately flew back as if they were ashamed. Arthur blindly shuffled off to the kitchen, hoping to get a glass of water before he resolved his "problem."

He froze; there was a bouquet of slightly crumpled sunflowers on the kitchen table in an old chipped mug.

The events of last night rained down on him, and Arthur blindly reached out and sent the mug smashing to the ground, the yellow flowers floating sadly in a puddle as Arthur dropped to his knees.

~*oOo*~

Alfred was far too cheerful at breakfast, though he wondered aloud at Arthur's sudden binge-drinking. His older brother just muttered something about being overworked and Alfred patted him on the back sympathetically, dismissing Arthur's foul mood to a bad hangover. He washed the plates and then skipped outside before Arthur could stop him, his attitude bright and joyous while Arthur just felt like dying inside.

At twelve, Alfred had not returned for lunch. As Arthur was frantically pulling on his jacket to look for him, he heard someone knocking on the door. As he slowly answered it, a blur of violet had rushed at him, shrieking with fury, brandishing a knife.

Arthur had been understandably taken aback, but both his inner rage and the self-defense classes he had taken came in very handy. He abruptly slammed his foot into Natalya Braginski's stomach, sending her flying back to the wall with a grunt of pain. Before she could recover, Arthur seized her by the arm and threw her over his shoulder, slamming her onto the ground. He leapt atop her, ignoring her snarls and threats and screams.

"What do you want, you little _bitch_?" snarled Arthur, his grip tightening even as Natalya sank her teeth into his wrist, still scrabbling underneath him like a feral cat desperate for freedom. "You know, I'm really not feeling too hospitable towards ANY of your ilk at the moment, so maybe I should take advantage of the fact that YOU stepped into MY home and cut you into pieces." Mean green eyes flashed underneath heavy brows, bloodthirsty, frenzied, mad. "It would be within my _right, _considering that seemed to be YOUR intention."

Natalya just spit in his face, but Arthur's face did not betray even the slightest hint of disgust, though his hands tightened brutally over her wrists. "You must truly hate living if you come me to now, of all times…"

"Go to hell, you self-important, pompous bastard!" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"I take it you know. And you know that I know. And what I know is that your heart is breaking."

"You don't—"

"Oh, but I do," breathed Arthur into her ear. "And I _don't_. That's precisely why you loathe me until you might burst, why you'd love to slice me into ribbons if you could. But you can't," he panted, "You _can't_, because who would look after little baby Ivan?"

Natalya growled, still kicking and struggling. "Big brother can look after—"

"But who will keep Alfred away from your beloved beau?" asked Arthur with a slight, twisted smile, almost feeling the hatred and anger boiling over from their close proximity. "Who will keep the many people you wish would _just fry away and die_ away from your great big brother, the person you adore? Oh, come now," he scoffed as Natalya flinched in surprise. "You make no secret of it. What don't you think I know, Natalya? You hate me," he said charmingly, as the little Russian let out another shriek and gnashed her teeth at him, half-mad. "You hate me, and you hate me even more than ever now, because you think I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about. You want to know what I think, Natalya?" The girl sneered at him.

"What makes you think I care what you think, you ugly, heavy-browed moron?" Arthur grit his teeth and shook her hard.

"Considering the position you're in, I think you might want to hold your tongue for once in your life, you little hyena," he whispered, seizing the knife on the floor and stabbing it through Natalya's sleeve, keeping the writhing girl pinned to the ground like a captive butterfly. "What I think is that your brother is very much akin to the lord in the parable told by a wise man to King David. Your bitch of a mother is quite religious, so I'm certain you have heard it many times, am I right?"

Natalya just scowled at him, not betraying a drop of outrage at Arthur's slight at her parent. Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"There once was a lord of great wealth and prestige, who had hundreds of cattle and thousands of sheep in his flocks. He had many servants, among them a lowly vassal who had but a little hut next to his master's glorious castle and one small ewe lamb. The lamb followed him about like a second shadow, and it did not live outside with the other sheep." A harsh bark of laughter. "Oh, no. It stayed with the vassal, ate of his plate, drank from his cup, and slept in his arms at night. It wanted for nothing and the servant loved it as he would a daughter. Then one day, the master had a visitor come to town for a party."

Arthur's voice was light and calm, but there was poison in the treacle-lathered words.

"This lord decided that he wanted to serve his good friend a good stew, but he was loathe to take any from his own flocks," he said softly, using both hands to pin down Natalya's straining hand as it tried to rip the knife from her sleeve. "And you know what that horrible man did, mmm? He took the vassal's sheep for the meal."

Natalya swore a disgusting word underneath her captor. "And what point exactly do you mean to make, you insufferable American pig?"

Arthur twisted Natalya's arm until even she winced.

"The point, you hideous little girl," Arthur said slowly, voice cracking with emotion, "Is that when I saw your brother kiss my little dove, I felt _exactly _what the vassal felt when he watched that meek little lamb being carried off to be slaughtered at the shambles."

Natalya stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before his words caught up with her, and she started her vicious struggles for freedom once more.

"How **dare** you accuse my brother of such things when **your **brother—"

"Obviously, you hate Alfred," interrupted Arthur impatiently. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. So why did you come after ME, of all people?" he asked languidly as Natalya continued to flail.

"Your idiot brother actually listens to **you**!" Natalya cried out in anger. "Tell him to stay away from my sweet Ivan or I will slip a knife between his ribs!"

"Well, that's no good Natalya, because if you did, I would cut out your eyes and bake them in a pie," said Arthur as nonchalantly as if he were talking about the weather. "As a matter of fact, I would take your heart, your kidney, your liver, and whatever little brains you have and cook them in pastry crust and send them all to your dear brother. Then you could have the blessing of being with your brother forever, or at least until he had his next bowel movement." Arthur's expression softened ever so slightly. "That kiss…it must have been terribly trying for you to watch, wasn't it, poor dear?"

Natalya seethed at him. "Do not coddle me or treat me like some little girl, you half wit! It meant nothing—it was mere seducing on your sick brother's part! I-"

"Why should you have to watch someone you believe inferior to you be able to hug and kiss your brother, when it's so painfully obvious _you_ love him best?" murmured Arthur. "You, who in all likelihood adored him before you could even _speak_—why should _you_ lose to someone you _know_ in your heart is no competition?"

Natalya paused underneath him, surprise appearing on her face. That hadn't been what she expected to hear. Even though her feet still kicked and thudded at the floor, Arthur thought she might be listening now. He went on.

"You feel Alfred and Ivan both are blinded—Alfred by sheer stupidity because if he saw just _how much_ more love you are capable of feeling for Ivan, he wouldn't dare look your brother in the face ever again. You feel Ivan is also blinded, because the partner he is meant to seek out has already been granted to him by destiny, for goodness' sakes! You are so obviously perfect for one another that you were fated to be in the same family together, forever at each other's sides even when you were just a handful of cells!"

"You are just seeking to appease me," grumbled Natalya, though even her feet had come to rest on the floor. Arthur smiled and used his silver tongue.

"Imagine it, Natalya. I'm sure you have before. You know it will one day come to pass. You will be wearing a white silk gown Ivan himself picked out for you, one that he says makes you look like a celestial being." He heard the girl's breath hitch, and he hurried on. "You will float down the aisle as collected and assured as the coming of day, because there _is _no other rival, _was_ no other rival, and there _never will_ be another rival in Ivan's affections. There will only ever be you, and his eyes will be feasting on you as he waits for you, trying to hide his own desire for his love, control his thoughts about scooping you up and carrying you somewhere he can ravish you in peace. I have seen your vigor and…._tenacity._" Arthur's smile widened. "You're willing to sacrifice anything for your love—how can it not be pure? You won't believe me Natalya, but that's precisely what I feel for my brother."

Natalya snorted. "Your feelings could only ever be a faint shadow of what mine are…." Arthur scoffed.

"Whatever. Our siblings are simply misguided, and if you will help me, I plan to show them just how **wrong** they truly are about this." He pressed his forehead against Natalya's, eyes squeezed shut. "Ivan will flee to your side, just as he was always meant to, and I will have my little darling. Even if I can't ever make him mine," he added sadly, "I can at least make sure he's no one else's and that he's **safe**. That'll be enough for me. Our desires are one in the same, Natalya. Won't you help me help you?"

Arthur released Natalya and stood up quickly in case she tried to attack him again. The young woman frowned up at Arthur, but there was no longer livid ice in her frosty eyes. She appeared to be deep in thought.

"Though if you won't help me, I don't care. I intend to do it myself," said Arthur simply, sardonically. "If words aren't enough to deter those two I'm more than prepared to teach them a thing or two about devotion. It's my opinion that you're much more likely to find the people who truly love you via trial by fire rather than a faint, foolish fling. But your help will mean that this ridiculous façade will end all the more quickly, which is to our mutual benefit."

Natalya looked at him, expression impassive. And then, for the first time Arthur had ever seen, a truly evil smile unfurled on the psychotic little girl's face.

"So, do we have a deal?" He extended a hand to her.

Natalya warily considered the hand with some aversion, but she reluctantly took it and allowed the man to pull her to her feet.

"It is a deal."

Arthur smiled pleasantly. "That is good. Now, being the good sister that you are, I trust that you happen to have your brother's locker combination?"

~*oOo*~

* * *

***Exhales, falls face first on computer keyboard* **

**Hmmm, twenty-something pages. Yeah, hope you guys enjoy. *Groans* Not that I mind, of course. **

**First of all: Am not experienced in writing smut. I'm sorry. But to all of you UsUk fans, I hope you got your fix, though the story isn't over yet! ;) There'll be some twists and turns coming soon. And you folks best get on your dark spats, because I have to warn you: There WILL be a death coming up. :'( **

**France Mochi is now in the care of DemandTruth. Treat him well and allow him to sample your wine! ^_^ *Hugs* **

**Next Chapter: 'Something Wicked This Way Comes.' Just a few more chapters left! Please review for quicker updates! *Blows kisses* **


	10. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**~*Something Wicked This Comes*~**

**Or**

**Here Comes The Bride, Part I  
**

**So sorry for late update...no real excuse. *Sobs***

**Hooooray! :') I have over 100 reviews for this story now! Let's celebrate by throwing a mad Mochi party! *Starts grooving to the music* Heey, France's definitely enjoying the refreshments, isn't he? And there's Monaco and her Mochi Mate, ThatPurplyThing near the roulette tables…good luck, you two! MaidenMarvel's Switzerland Mochi is calling for more cheddar plates, and a Guest's Mochi Pal Canada is telling everyone to pipe down—he's tryin' to watch the Stanley Cup finals on the telly!**

**But where have Belarus and England Mochi disappeared to?**

**See you at the bottom-reviewers will have my undying gratitude now and always. Much love! Please enjoy!**

**~*oOo*~**

* * *

_Flashback: Twelve Years Ago_

_She didn't remember much of life in Russia, nor did she remember the man who was her father. While Katyusha could recall bottles smashing against the walls, the angry jeers and shouts of accusations, the slaps and the sounds of Mama crying, she only remembered Ivan staring down at her, his purple eyes almost aglow in the darkness. _

_There had been his arms when it was bitterly cold, and she liked them more than Mama's. Everything from Ivan was somehow beautiful to Natalya, from his hair (which was very fun to pull and feel beneath her fingers), from his comforting scent, to his beautiful eyes. _

_She wanted those eyes. If Ivan did not need them, she would pull them out and keep them under her pillow so that she could admire them all she wanted. And they could only ever look back at her. _

_Her earliest memory was when she was playing on the floor, watching Mama frantically begin stuffing various items into a suitcase without the slightest idea of what she was actually doing. It looked like a game. Then, the door had burst open and HE had come in, storming and raging as always. But this time Mama did not cower. She actually had the nerve to shout back at Papa, he who was kind to Natalya and brought her sweets-which meant that he positively roared back at her, like a tiger. Natalya watched her father begin to beat Mrs. Braginski over the head, shrieking insults as Ivan cried in a corner somewhere. She looked back down at her doll and started to strangle it, looking up at Papa every now and again to make sure she was getting it right. _

_Suddenly, Papa's hands were on her, and he was yelling something at Mrs. Braginski-Natalya could not remember what-and then, he'd thrown his baby daughter at the wall. THAT she could remember, the sickening pain, the loud and ominous CRUNCH sound from somewhere, the fall that had knocked the wind out of her little lungs. _

_Ivan's tears turned to screams of anger, and his arms immediately wrapped around his little sister as she lay dazed in his arms, one of her shoulders painfully crooked and sagging. Mrs. B's pleas turned into something ballistic, something so terrible that even Papa quivered, and Ivan's lips were on her damaged shoulder and then he was sitting her down as tenderly as if she were a tsarina and then-_

_**And then-**_

_She admittedly can't remember much else after that. Katyusha had appeared out of nowhere and had tried to soothe her, but Natalya wailed, wailed not for Papa lying on the ground in a small, growing puddle of blood, not for Mama clutching the pipe, but for Ivan, whom she wanted to hold and protect. His face was covered in scrapes and they made her furious, thirsty for violence, for wounds that she had inflicted. No one ever, ever had the right to harm Ivan, whom she loved with more than her heart, more than she ever thought she could. _

_Even as her shaken Mama rocked her back and forth to sleep that night in the hospital room, her cold eyes fixated on Ivan, who was sleeping next to Katyusha in a big bed, young, noble face covered with cuts. For a moment, her lip started to tremble and her eyes began to burn, not with pain, but for the overpowering waves of love and devotion she felt in that moment. Everything about Ivan was invariably perfect, worth protecting with every fiber of her being. Somehow she understood she would never be a perfect doll again, but she would make herself a beautiful soldier that Ivan could love when he was older. One that he would marry and dedicate the rest of his life to. _

_End Flashback._

* * *

The rain started up again late Sunday afternoon. While it happily sloshed and slurped down Ivan's window and pattered on his roof like so many little marching feet, the Russian and Alfred lay huddled up in Ivan's bed underneath one of Mrs. Braginski's hand-stitched quilts. Alfred lazily opened his blue eyes—bright as a midsummer sky—and smiled lazily at Ivan, whose purple eyes twinkled.

"I don't think I wanna move from here," Alfred confessed, snuggling his head underneath Ivan's chin, drinking in his scent, which had the crisp edge of peppermint to it.

"Then do not," murmured Ivan softly. "Stay the night."

Alfred shrugged sadly. "That sounds great, but I doubt Artie's gonna be zen with that." He sighed, stretched, and meant to wriggle his way out of the warm cocoon of arms and blankets, but Ivan's arms tightened around him and an amused Alfred felt himself being tugged back into their nest. His struggles were teasing, halfhearted. "Hey babe, think you can let go?"

"Nyet."

Alfred rolled his eyes but grinned.

"That's cool with me…at least for a few more minutes," he murmured, burying his face in the warm nook of Ivan's neck and planting a kiss there. "I'm kinda surprised my cell isn't ringing its head off by now…I wonder if Artie got drunk again." He scratched his head absently. "That really wasn't like him…I mean, I know Artie likes getting wasted, but he's got such a stick up his responsible parental ass that he almost never does it."

"Perhaps is good for him," offered Ivan. He didn't care so much, but if it meant that he could enjoy time alone with Alfred, it was certainly a positive thing. "Unwind." Alfred shrugged.

"He mentioned that he liked someone the other day….maybe he got depressed just by talking about her and just started drinking?" He rolled onto his side, frowning in concern. "I wonder what girl he coulda meant? I probably haven't met her…wonder what she's like, to make Artie swoon." He grinned. "Bet she's a hot mess."

"Da," agreed Ivan, tucking Alfred underneath his arm. The boy wriggled against Ivan, sighing quietly. For a moment, the two just lay there, luxuriating in the stillness. Then, Alfred tentatively asked the question:

"Are we telling your family about this?"

Ivan just pressed his lips to Alfred's forehead and the boy gave him a sad peck in mutual agreement.

"Yeah…I know Artie thinks I'm too young to be dating….though if he had his way, I wouldn't be allowed to drive a car until twenty-nine," he commented dryly, earning a smile from Ivan. "Maybe if he doesn't ask, I won't have to tell. That guy can read me like a hawk though, so no promises." Alfred gently wrestled his way free out of Ivan's hold and shivered as he stepped onto the bedroom floor. "I gotta bounce, babe."

"I will come with you," said Ivan, making to get up. Alfred just abruptly shook his head.

"No, it's cool," Alfred said quickly. "Seriously Iv, just stay here. It's cold out."

"All the more reason for me to come," said Ivan simply as he tried to stand. "Who else will keep you warm, da?" Alfred colored and smiled, but then wilted somewhat as a thought struck him.

"C'mon. If Artie sees you with me, he's gonna be demanding to know if you're courting me with the honest intention of marrying me." Alfred scoffed. "Dude, when that man becomes a parent, he's gonna be the founder of DADD, or Dads Against Daughters Dating. But anyway," he said, with a regretful grin, "I'll see you at school tomorrow, babe. 'Night."

"Bye," said Ivan unhappily, watching Alfred walk out of his bedroom. He buried his face into the pillow Alfred had been using and inhaled, hugging it tightly to his chest, his neck getting a strange prickling sensation and he couldn't shake the unnerving idea that someone was watching him.

~*oOo*~

Ivan and Alfred wandered into school on Monday morning, hands touching the other's every now and again; the slightest tease of skin. Blushing, Alfred squirmed and couldn't help but feel the slightest tug of sadness in his heart as he watched other couples walk hand in hand in public around them, carrying each other's books, exchanging chaste kisses by the lockers. They didn't have to think twice about it—no one would judge them, not really. But he and Ivan could only ever be close friends around these people, who had mocked them enough for the smallest hints of being…_different._

To be honest, his newfound relationship with Ivan made him want to charge through the halls like a besotted rhino, screaming happily from the roof until his lungs would burst: "_Heeeeey_! I love Ivan, I love Ivan, **I love Ivan Braginski**!" But there was no chance of that openness, that freedom, not if the two wanted to spend their last two years in high school _not_ living a veritable hell. Alfred sighed, and Ivan gave his hand the most incognito of squeezes, his own eyes wistful but happy.

"One thing at a time, Alfredka," said Ivan kindly, and Alfred grinned up at him, startling himself out of his gloom. Ivan was right; hell, they hadn't even been on their first date yet! He slapped the Russian on the back and Alfred turned to meet Mattie, who was running up to them, looking upset. "Morning, bro, look, I'm really sorry about skipping out this weekend, I—"

"Do you know who did it?" asked Matthew anxiously, his pale face slick with sweat. "We need to tell one of the faculty; that's **completely** out-of-bounds. You shouldn't have to put up with that."

Ivan and Alfred just looked at each other, befuddled. "Uh, put up with what, Mattie?" asked Alfred curiously as his twin started fiddling with his glasses, suddenly very interested in them. "Whattaya talking about?"

"You mean you haven't seen it yet?" asked Mattie dully, looking remarkably unhappy. "C'mon, then. Follow me?"

"Matthew, what is wrong?" asked Ivan curiously as the two trudged after Alfred's twin, coming to an abrupt halt as they approached Alfred's locker. Ivan abruptly grabbed Alfred's hand again as the young blond threw back his head and swore. "Well, hell. Some bastard's got way too much time on his hands."

Students were slowing down as they passed the defamed locker, whispering amongst themselves. Someone had written the words '_die fag_' in large, spiky red words. Ivan smiled. Matthew shook his head, looking disgusted.

"I'm gonna tell the dean about this," he growled. The other blond shook his head, cheerfully giving his locker the finger before he went scrub the offending words off with his sleeve. Thankfully, the person had used chalk and not permanent marker.

"Nah. It's probably just some random vandal jerkass who just feels like messing with me." He shrugged resignedly. "It's not like you can really make out a culprit in a school full of bastards, anyhow."

Ivan took a long look at the words, squinting slightly. The handwriting looked distinctively familiar somehow. But Alfred just continued to rub away, and soon the only evidence that there had ever been anything at all was a faint, dusty cloud on Alfred's locker. Ivan's eyes narrowed at it as the twins Alfred began talking, Matthew's voice deathly serious.

"You sure you don't have an idea who could have done this? Anyone been giving you a lot of trouble lately?" he asked as the three started to walk away.

"Pfff, it's all gone and good now, Mats." Alfred chuckled, though there was a strained edge in his tone that Ivan caught. He turned to Ivan with a raised eyebrow. "What do you think, big guy?"

It took Ivan a moment before he could find his voice. "I am thinking," he said at last, voice lighthearted and smile widening, "That it is time I put rusty old spigot in backyard to good use."

Alfred just stared at him before shivering. "Whoa. That's overplaying it just a little. It'll be fine, Vanya." Ivan's wrist bumped against Alfred's, and Matthew's eyes softened.

"Well…just be careful. You know some of these people are meaner than rabid dogs and wouldn't mind making trouble for you," he chided as the three started to drift away. "So Alfred, why'd the heck you leave so suddenly? You scared us all to death."

Alfred laughed nervously, face flushing. "Oh! W-well, I was drunk, and…and I, well, um, y'see, I can explain this—"

Matthew wearily raised a hand. "Stop," he said wearily. "I don't even wanna KNOW anymore." Alfred flashed his twin a winning smile. "But was Arthur very upset with you? Judging from what he said, you were all weirded out and refused to come out of the closet. Bathroom," he corrected quickly, a light dusting of pink appearing on his face.

Alfred looked down at his shoes and made a forlorn whuffling sound. "Just had some stuff to figure out. 'm fine," he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly when Matthew clasped one shoulder and Ivan the other. "Artie's the one acting weird lately. I came home Saturday night to find him completely wasted, and he didn't come home Sunday until midnight. I wonder if these classes are finally driving him off the edge."

"I think he passed that point a long time ago," said Matthew dryly, and Alfred attempted a smile. "Well, I—"

Ivan came to an abrupt halt, and the twins actually walked by a few paces before they noticed. Curious, they both doubled back, only for Matthew to swear quietly and for Alfred's eyes to become livid.

"Okay, someone's gonna _die_ for this," he growled, his face turning red. Ivan gave him a bemused, sad look.

The Russian's locker was covered in red chalk; for some reason or another, a wilting foxglove had been taped on it. In large, neat letters, someone had scribbled out:

_'Stay away from my baby, you fat communist filth.'_

~*oOo*~

"Do you suppose someone saw us kiss?" Ivan asked anxiously, shifting to one foot to the other as Alfred attempted to yank his bicycle free from the chain. Alfred shrugged wearily.

The three boys had stormed to the dean's office, but the man claimed there wasn't anything he could do but call a janitor to clean up the mess. Alfred had hoped he would at least hire big, burly security guards to stand watch over their lockers, but the man had only gotten all huffy and told him not to be ridiculous; if it happened again, the boys could change lockers. Alfred rolled his eyes as he fumbled with the lock.

"I dunno, dude. It DOES seem like a pretty big coincky-dink, considerin' it happened the weekend after you and I…well…." Alfred blushed, grinning shyly as Ivan offered him a big schoolboy smile. "So maybe some asshole spotted us and wrote something nasty online. Who the hell knows. But," he added as they pulled Alfred's bicycle free, "We'll be okay. If we see some other ass scribbling on our stuff, then we kick ass, take names, and let them eat shit. Sound good?"

"Da," said Ivan in relief. He wouldn't have been surprised if Alfred had wanted to break up with him then and there. "And Friday perhaps we can go on first date."

Alfred put a hand on his hip and gave Ivan a sultry look. "Oooh, Mister, where d'you wanna take lil' o me?"

"Well, I—" Alfred looked down all of a sudden and his mouth became a capital O.

"Hey, my tires!" yelped Alfred in alarm, moving his bike and forth to confirm the sad truth. "Dude, they're flat! They totally weren't this morning!"

"You are kidding." Ivan peered down, his eyes widening. "Ah, what bad luck! Perhaps you poked tiny holes on them on way to school and now—"

"No, see, look—" Alfred pointed, and Ivan swallowed past the lump of dread rising in his throat as he turned to look at his troubled boyfriend. Someone had sliced decisively LARGE holes in Alfred's bicycle wheels, leaving two sad, ruined clumps of rubber in their wake.

~*oOo*~

Arthur looked up from his laptop with a small tired small when Alfred came in to their bedroom. The shades underneath his eyes were a tad darker than normal. "Hello, Alfred. How was your day?"

In answer, Alfred flopped on his bed and buried his face in a pillow. He faintly heard his brother ask, "What's wrong, love? Did you have a fight at school? With one of your friends, perhaps?" Arthur's voice sounded strained, almost expectant. Alfred slowly shook his head wearily, sighing heartily.

"No….I kinda wish I had….Artie, I…" he pulled his face out of the pillow, and Arthur turned from his work to nod at him encouragingly when no answer was forthwith coming. His normally merry azure eyes were decidedly dull today. "Artie, when you're a doctor, do you think you can come up with a scientific cure for jerks?"

Arthur smiled a little at that, but he still looked worried.

"You don't seem yourself, Alfred. Are you going to be okay, baby?"

"Quit callin' me that," said Alfred dryly, knowing full well that Arthur wouldn't. He plopped his head down and stared at the ceiling.

"I think some creep—well, never mind," he said hastily, not wanting to put more on Arthur's plate than the poor man had already. "It's over and done with now."

Arthur slowly nodded. "Just be aware that you can tell me anything, Alfie. Be sure you commit it to memory."

"Sure…sure…"

Arthur slowly turned back to his textbooks, a displeased frown slowly spreading on his face, bleeding on it like the shining ink on his page.

"Hey Artie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Uh, this might sound weird, but you're Mr. Flower Guy so I thought you'd know—what do those little catgloves…uh, rabbitgloves…._foxglove_ flowers stand for?"

"Foxglove? Oh, that symbolizes insincerity. A vile trickster. Ill fortune. Foxglove flowers are also quite poisonous. Why do you ask?"

Alfred didn't have much to say for the rest of the night.

~*oOo*~

The two were nervous when they approached their lockers the next morning, but both sighed in relief when they discovered they had been left untouched.

But people were continuing to give them strange looks in the hallways, and girls congregated to whisper in each other's ears when the two headed down to lunch. When Alfred headed into the bathroom sometime after study hall, he saw why: someone had pained in bleeding red letters a truly terrible scribble of a fat, distorted figure with a colossal nose giving head to a stick person, with several other stick people waiting behind the first.

_Ivan B can be counted on to go down for more hours than a 711._

Alfred very nearly shattered the mirror.

The dean made an angry announcement on the loudspeaker: "Defamation of school property…heartless bullying….will not be tolerated, blah-blah-blah…" and he urged the culprit to own up immediately because they would eventually be caught. Ivan and Alfred threw each other despairing looks after the announcement in Biology class, and Matthew hugged Ivan as tightly as he could, face set with anger.

"You've GOT to tell Artie and Mrs. Braginski," Mattie begged as the three hurried down the steps to Matthew's car. "Trust me, if there's anything Mr. Rome doesn't want, it's a couple of angry parents—and brothers—to deal with. The school board will crack down on him and he'll find out who did it."

"What good would that do?" asked Ivan miserably as he opened the door and slid inside, Alfred following. "They will still make fun of us. They have computer. They have ways."

Matthew scowled darkly as he pulled out of the parking lot. "That doesn't make what they've already done acceptable, Iv! Al, convince him," he begged as he started driving in the direction of Alfred and Arthur's apartment. "And you gotta tell Artie about this. Once he finds out that someone defamed your locker, there's definitely gonna be hell to pay."

Alfred swallowed and played with his fingertips.

"I…I would, but he's got enough going on right now and I don't need a psycho brother showing up threatening to sue the school…."

"Well, maybe Arthur should!" exclaimed Matthew in disgust. "I told Francis what happened and he was so upset, heck, if it happened to me, he'd probably drive down from college and try to give the culprit a sucker punch!"

"And you'd be too busy stammering that 'no, it really wasn't that bad, really, please don't strangle anyone,'" said Alfred dully, reaching for Ivan's hand. "We'll deal with this, Mattie. Aren't you the one who keeps insisting if you ignore jerks instead of pouring soda down their fronts, they'll go away?"

Matthew flashed Alfred a troubled look in the rearview mirror, but said nothing. Ivan smiled, though it was a bit forced.

"D-da. This is nothing I have not seen before, Matthew. No be the worrying. Besides," he added, the smile slowly sliding off his face as a cold realization dawned on him. "I cannot afford for mother to find out. She will get angry, want to know WHY people are saying what they are saying, and…." Ivan faltered, and Matthew bit the inside of his mouth to prevent himself from saying anything. How could he? If Mrs. Braginski, old-fashioned, dry, and Orthodox Christian Mrs. Braginski were to find out that Ivan was accused of being homosexual, she might go far enough as to throw him out of the house.

~*oOo*~

The next day, while the old message was being painted over, someone had scribbled on the library window in permanent marker: _The 'f' in Alfred F Jones' name stands for Fag Fucking Fetishist._ Ivan smiled again and suggested that he wait after school for the defamer, preferably with a bag of broken glass. The remark didn't particularly make Alfred feel better.

People at school were getting worse. Alfred did his best to joke off the defamer's antics as best as he could—it worked most times—but now people were whispering everywhere he went, boys were knocking books out of his hands when he rounded corners, and even teachers were giving him strange looks. A girl Alfred know for whose little sister Alfred occasionally sat for told him no uncertain terms that he was fired, as the family did not want a pervert near their home.

Ivan was certainly not having much of a better time, though people were more skittish about yelling insults after HIM in the hallways, considering how scary he could look with that sweet, pleasant little smile that said '_I'm disemboweling you in my head and it makes a lovely picture_.' Still, whispers fluttered after him like a flock of particularly troublesome flies, and on Thursday, he'd opened his locker to find a dead mouse inside of it. Someone had put a tack in Alfred's gym shoes, but thankfully he'd happened to tilt his sneaker ever so slightly and the discreetly hidden pin came rolling out.

On Friday morning, the two looked up at the school, neither of them wanting to step inside. Alfred closed his eyes and buried his face in Ivan's neck. The Russian wrapped a token of his scarf around Alfred's shoulders, patting him softly on the back. "Courage."

Alfred smiled vaguely at that. "Thanks, man. This is….this is all just really starting to scare me."

Ivan's eyes became grave. "Do you think we should tell Arthur and Mama? Because, if you support…"

Alfred abruptly swung his head back and forth. "Nuh uh! Well, unless whoever pulls a REALLY nasty one today," he commented, spirits sinking. "But even then, I say we try to look as cheerful as we can together and we'll piss the hell out of 'em."

"I fear that will make it worse."

"Then we go to plan B and wait for them to show up after school!" exclaimed Alfred impatiently. "And we hit them with croquet mallets or something." He wrapped his hands around Ivan's, pulling the startled young man into an embrace.

"And if THAT doesn't work and they don't knock the shit off, we go to your mom and Artie and there'll be hell to pay," Alfred said gently, squeezing Ivan's hands until the boy looked up at him, biting his lip. "Do you..do you really think your mom would do that?"

"I do not know," said Ivan miserably. "I just do not know."

Alfred just stared at him for a moment before peppering Ivan's face with pecks, enjoying how Ivan seemed to be turning a deeper shade of red after each one. "Then—_kiss_—you—_kiss_—come—_kiss, kiss_—to stay—_kiss_—with Artie—_kiss_—and me. It'd be great!" _Kiss, kiss, kiss._

Ivan smiled, face glowing as if there were hot coals beneath it. The idea of him and Arthur having to live underneath the same roof was about as 'great' as a mother bear being rubbed the wrong way by a particularly vicious, mad wolf. "So…tomorrow…you would still…like to go out with me, da? When you are done with work?" How he did blush! Alfred smiled, eyes glittering.

"Course. Let's go to the roller rink and rock it seven days till Sunday." Ivan pouted.

"But I cannot roller skate! Let us go ice skating instead, da?"

Alfred crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue. "Hey, first date should come before first fight," he said teasingly, bumping his nose apologetically against Ivan's when the taller young man bit his lip. "No worries, Vanya."

"It is nice…to hear you say that name," Ivan admitted begrudgingly when Alfred pecked his nose affectionately, smirking.

"Well, at least I know I got myself a trump card," sighed Alfred as the bell rang. "Let's take whatever crap they got. Who knows?" he added hopefully, giving Ivan's hand a squeeze. "Maybe today's the day they'll have stopped." Ivan wished he could have the same optimism, but he held Alfred's hand tightly nevertheless. The two wandered into school together, unaware of the cold, cold eyes fixated on Alfred's retreating figure, pierced with hatred.

~*oOo*~

Whoever the culprit was, they definitely didn't seem to be in the mood to joke around that day; Alfred found several caterpillars in his pencil case, and Ivan's locker was filled with an awful smell which origins they didn't want to guess at. A girl passed Alfred a note saying blandly some other girl asked her to give it to him, and he'd unwrapped it to find a list of curses he'd had no idea existed up until this moment. Ivan opened his notebook to find that the math homework that he'd finished was gone, replaced instead with a sheet of strange symbols written in red.

"Are you SURE you don't have any idea who the culprit could be?" asked Ivan in dismay as the two moved their belongings into new lockers. "The person called you her or his "baby"…perhaps it is...jealous ex-girlfriend or boyfriend?" he failed in keeping the accusing tone out of his voice.

Alfred scowled darkly at him. "Hey, never had a boyfriend, buddy. Why would I keep something like that from you?" Ivan said nothing. "And no one I've ever dated was all that hung up about it ending." Ivan's eyes darkened. "So what about you? Got someone like your psycho sister who would go off the deep end if you started dating someone?"

"Nyet. That is not funny," growled Ivan, refusing to look at Alfred. The two didn't speak to each other on the way home, and Alfred went to bed four hours early, whereas Ivan went into the shower for two hours before he would consider coming out.

~*oOo*~

The next morning, Alfred woke, but didn't open his eyes. Arthur was running a hand through his hair and Alfred didn't especially want to admit that he liked the feeling. Their father had done something similar for them on blustery nights and particularly awful days. Considering how painful yesterday had been, maybe he'd just stay in bed today. Ivan probably wouldn't want to go out with him today; maybe the increased thread of bullying had probably led the Russian to his breaking point. Alfred's eyes stung, and he hoped fervently Arthur couldn't see the hot tear that escaped from one of his eyes.

A cool fingertip caught it and wiped it away. Damn. Alfred rolled over and tried to burrow his way beneath the blankets, but Arthur grabbed him by the arms and held him fast. "Alfred, you realize that you have the exact opposite of a poker face. Tell me what's wrong."

Miffed, Alfred turned to look at his brother. "Hey, what's the opposite of poker?" he joked feebly. "Mini golf? Surfing? Video Game? Do I have a surfer's face? That'd be kinda hot, actually." Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"You've been so down this week, Alfred… if you won't tell me why, I'll call up Matthew. Or the school," he warned, and Alfred's innards turned to ice. "You're not at all your usual chipper self, and I can't help but wonder if our talk on Saturday night has anything to do with it."

Alfred bit his lip and buried his face in a pillow. "Get out of my freaking head."

"Can't do that, sweet," responded Arthur cheerfully. "Have you been getting into fights at all with…I don't know, Matthew or Ivan?" Alfred flinched. "Is that why you felt compelled to come home early Friday night? Because you had an argument?"

"…" Alfred said nothing, and Arthur started running his hands through his hair again, guiding his brother's head to his lap. "Alfred, I want you to be completely honest with me. Have you been seeing anyone?"

"…kind…of?" Alfred squeaked, wincing when Arthur's fingers tightened almost brutally in his hair. "Ow."

"Sorry." Arthur resumed his stroking, voice tight. "What do you mean, 'kind of?' I want you to tell me who it is."

"Why? You never approve of anyone I date," snapped Alfred accusingly. Arthur scoffed. "Well, excuse me for trying to look after my one and only baby brother."

"What about Matthew?" Alfred demanded.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, him. But enough of these games," Arthur growled. "Are you really seeing Ivan?" Alfred startled and tried to pull his head back, but Arthur's hands tightened, keeping Alfred's head arrested in his lap. "I knew it."

"How did—I—you—"

"Just a feeling I had." Alfred shivered at the coldness in Arthur's voice. "But you look the antithesis of happy. Is he hurting you? Is he making you take things more quickly than you'd like? By God Alfred, give me some hint or I'll hunt down Braginski and-"

Alfred pulled his head free, glowering at his brother. "Geez, why do you have to go all blood and guts on anyone who gets close to me?" Arthur flinched, as if Alfred had slapped him.

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Sure doesn't seem that way," muttered Alfred bitterly, hearing a slight pinging! sound from somewhere, but he didn't register it. "Yes, Ivan and I decided we wanted to date. Yes, we sort of kind of had a disagreement. I wouldn't call it an actual fight. Yes, we were gonna go out today." _Ping!_ "But I don't think he'll want to go anywhere now," Alfred added forlornly, his voice breaking. _Ping! Ping! Ping!_ What was that sound?

Arthur's harsh gaze softened by an almost imperceptible degree. "I'm sorry, Alfred." He didn't sound very sorry at all. "If...it makes you feel better," Arthur began, slowly, hopefully. "P-perhaps you and I today could-"

_Ping! Ping! Ping!_ Both of their heads turned, and Alfred saw a small rock glance off their window and disappear. Curious, he wandered over to the window and looked down, his eyes brightening. Arthur came over and looked down, his soft emerald eyes becoming blazing hard stones.

Ivan Braginski was waiting outside the apartment complex, squinting up at the two brothers. He was clutching a bouquet of sunflowers very tightly, like a nervous child would a beloved stuffed animal.

"Iv!" Arthur's heart sank. Alfred flew to the door, flustered, smiling broadly. "Guess I gotta reintroduce you to Ivan," said Alfred cheerfully, turning to look at his mutinous sibling. "As my boyfriend." He ran out of the room, and Arthur followed like a man possessed, face a mask of bitter disappointment.

~*oOo*~

"I'm sorry."

"What on Earth for?"

"I don't know. Artie insisting that he be a chaperone?" Alfred chuckled slightly. "But I'm still totally sorry."

"Mmmm." Ivan breathed against Alfred's skin, his rough hand sneaking into Alfred's hair, stroking tenderly. Neither of them said anything for a moment, caught up underneath the glittering light the obnoxious disco ball in the middle of the roller rink was spreading. Ivan made some shushing noises when Alfred buried his face in his shoulder.

"Is alright, love...it's just you...me...and your brother's eyes, boring holes into back of my skull," Ivan commented dryly, gulping slightly as he turned to meet Arthur Kirkland Jones' stare from across the rink. It seemed Arthur was doing his absolute best to decapitate him using sheer mind power.

* * *

On Monday morning, the two walked into school holding hands, and the whispers picked up to an all time high. Mattie hurried through the crowd to them, expression expectant. Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Mattie-"

"It's okay," said Matthew kindly, giving his brother's arm a loving squeeze. "Say no more. I...sort of figured it out." Alfred groaned and buried his face in his hands. "God, it's that freaking obvious? No wonder we're open season." Matthew's buoyant expression withered somewhat.

"I'm sorry. I'm happy for you, honest. But I'm still sorry."

Alfred just gave his brother a one-armed hug before pulling back with a shrug. "Eh. Que sera, sera and all that junk." He began to fiddle with the combination on his locker, and Ivan stiffened as he heard a faint, angry _hissing_ sound.

"What's...what's that noise?" asked Ivan nervously as Alfred drew his locker open. Blue eyes widened, and the young man immediately leapt out of the way with a strangled cry of fright.

**"Aaaaaaa!"**

Several passerby screamed; some ran away. A snake lashed out at Alfred's quivering form from the locker, tongue flicking out as its glassy eyes considered the three trembling boys staggering back, the tips of its white fangs appearing.

~*oOo*~

* * *

**First week: Arthur and Natalya: 0. Ivan and Alfred: 1. Unfortunately, this might just mean that Artie and Bella are through screwing around and shit gets real. :( We learn a few more secrets next chapter, we say a goodbye (the story still has a few more chapters to go), and someone has a confession to make.**


	11. A Woman Scorned

**~*A Women Scorned, Part I*~**

**Hello, my dears. I'm sorry for taking so long...I really don't like this chapter very much. :( Really looking forward to writing next chapter though, if I should carry on from here. I'm a little worried that these segments are getting longer and wordier without advancing the actual plot. *Sighs* Lotsa stuff happens in this chapter...There aren't too many left-perhaps six or so, depending on length. To those still reading, thank you loves, and I hope you will stay to the bitter end! **

**I have the next half of this about ready, but I'll publish it in the next few days once I'm finished editing. Warning: A character death is coming up, but it won't be who you think it is!  
**

**I. Do Not. Know. How. To Write. Smut. I'm afraid this is cheap and cheesy, not loving or sensual at all.  
**

**A sidenote: Thank you to the darling Hyperkaoru for making fanart for this fic and some of my others! :') Check out the links on my page. Very well done and very much appreciated! *Tackles her in a hug* Blathering aside, let's get on with the story. See you at the bottom!**

* * *

_Flashback: Thirteen Years Ago_

_**Beep.**_

_Tears are running down Matthew's nose and he's clutching his woebegone old polar bear to his heart.  
_

_**Beep.**_

_Alfred is holding onto him for dear life and he can't let go, doesn't want to. He imagines if he does, the beepy machine will run flat, the way it does on the television when someone dies._

_He clutches onto little Alfred's hand so tightly that his little brother cries out; Arthur's nails are deep in the soft flesh._

_**Beep.**_

_Father's eyes have both been blackened; one is open just the tiniest sliver, so that Arthur can see his own green eye staring back at him. Glazed over, like a bit of pottery. The spark and laughter in that bit of eye is gone, replaced with a vague hint of disbelief as it considers the three children huddled next to the bed._

_Alfred is crying and Arthur takes him into his arms. Matthew's face is buried in the sheets of the bed, and all the while the machine keeps beeping, beeping, beeping, a poor comfort that their father barely clings to life, while their mother has already been wheeled to a dark, cold room with a sheet over her body._

_The doctors told them that they would _try_. But the look they had given the boys told Arthur that they were being lead to yet another waiting room, a waiting room with their father's bed in it. The room where Mother was in was also a waiting room, where she waited for her husband to join her in the zippy bags. _

_Arthur looks at the broken and bandaged man, his bones twisted, the few patches of skin not covered up with gauze dark with bruises. Can feel nothing, say nothing. He inhales his brother's honey-milky scent and breathes it in._

_He is fine._

_He is _fine.

_So long as he has Alfred, everything is _fine, fine, fine.

_The man stares at his children, the bloodshot sliver of eye wandering over them all, as if he were trying to commit each of their bloodless, horrified faces to memory._

_A swollen mouth twists into the slightest of smiles, lips cracked, bleeding. He's missing a few teeth._

_"Artie…"_

_The beloved voice is cracked, too hoarse to be their father's bright and airy tone. And Arthur wants to laugh because for a moment, he can put aside the insanity and pretend that everything's just a particularly sick and twisted joke._

_ Stanley Jones, or what used to be Stanley Jones and is now just a dying mess of flesh and shattered bones, beckons with a fingertip and cringes in pain. Arthur slowly steps forward, feeling no terror at the sight of the burns, no sorrow for Stanley or for himself._

_And yet, he still is the recipient of a broken heart, because Alfred is weeping bitterly and there's an unnamed horror blooming inside of him, developing inside of a chrysalis. He can't let it open, can't let it tear and let the legs of the beast inside crawl out, because then he'll KNOW. He'll know and Arthur will be but an old memory, a bit of shell and torn exoskeleton left shriveled and forgotten while the old inhabitant celebrates its freedom, terrible, terrible freedom. _

How could this have happened, gone so horribly wrong?

* * *

_(Present Day)_

The snake was incensed, but not poisonous, so the Dean saw no need to evacuate the school. While Animal Services carefully tugged the hissing serpent into a box, excited passerby who had gathered for the show were now leaving in droves as the bell rang. The few who dared to look at Ivan were speed-walking down the hall as fast as the monitors would allow them, as if Old Nick were in hot pursuit.

Ivan was smiling. His awkward, slightly dopish, shy face had given away to a terrible, crocodile grin that stretched so wide it seemed to threaten to tear his face apart at the seams—the smile befitted a troll out to devour the village children. His arms were twisted around Alfred, somewhat awkwardly so because Matthew was clinging to him as well, or at least what little he could hold of his twin. Alfred's face was buried in Ivan's neck and he wouldn't withdraw for several long moments.

When Ivan was done death-glowering in the general area, he pressed his face against Alfred's hair and kissed it, murmuring endearments in Russian. Matthew anxiously tugged his brother's hands away from his white, shell-shocked face, feeling sick to his stomach. It was so rare to see Alfred afraid of anything.

"Oh man," Alfred moaned feebly, twisting around in Ivan's arms and burying his face in Ivan's scarf. "Oh _man_, what next? Is someone going to sic an angry dog on us?" A semi hysteric giggle. "Or maybe they'll go right for the kill and run us down with a truck? Gotta love leading such an interesting life. Always a new surprise on the horizon."

Matthew's face was deathly white. "S-shut up," he breathed as the Dean argued with the Animal Services crewman just feet away, looking dismayed. "Al, that thing might not have been venomous, but whoever stuck it there might not have even known that!" He shook his head. "This is_ sick_. And if you don't tell Arthur about this, _goddammit, _I will."

Alfred said nothing. Ivan squeezed his shoulders. "Cheer up, sunflower," he murmured. "Isn't like culprit will be breathing much—"

"Mr. Jones, Mr. Bonnefoy, Mr. Braginski, in my office please," the Dean interrupted impatiently. The three boys' heads swiveled around to meet the man's eyes, who was frowning acutely. His amber-colored eyes took in Alfred's trembling form, and his expression softened just a bit.

"Well, first of all, Bonnefoy, take your brother to the infirmary," he added. "Give him a moment to lie down; I think he's in shock."

Alfred rolled his eyes and attempted to splutter something, but Ivan simply tugged Alfred even closer, so that the startled young man's head was underneath his chin. "I can take him."

Mr. Rome gave Ivan a dark look. "No, Mr. Braginski, I would prefer—"

"I will take him." Ivan said simply, the huge smile slowly blossoming back across his face. Matthew inched uneasily away from the Russian; he'd seen that look once before back in eighth grade, after one of their classmates had socked Alfred in the eye during a schoolyard scuffle. Ivan had efficiently broken the antagonist's nose shortly before taking out a few molars as an afterthought.

"Are you contradicting me, Mr. Braginski?"

"Yes," said Ivan bluntly. "I will be taking him."

Perhaps the dean was tired of arguing, or perhaps he'd sized up Ivan and decided his prospects weren't so good, but in either case the man shook his head in resigned irritation. "_Fine._ But I want you in my office _immediately _as soon as you see him lying down—"

"What do I look like, a member of the infirmed?" Alfred complained. No one paid him any attention.

"-and Bonnefoy, I want you to tell me _everything_. Jones, Braginski, I'm going to have to both of your guardians and call them in for a meeting. Immediately."

* * *

"What are we gonna do?" Alfred asked dully.

Staring at the floor, Ivan scuffed his old boots and didn't answer. Alfred was sitting up on a small mattress in the nurse's office. The Russian had offered Alfred his jacket but the blond turned down the offer, though he was still shivering. For the first time Ivan noticed the depth of the bruise-like shadows underneath Alfred's vibrant blue eyes, and wondered if Alfred had been harassed outside of school. While Ivan conjured up some truly ghastly images of writhing people weakly trying to extract a pipe from their intestines, Alfred tried again, his feeble voice cracked with concern:

"What is your mother going to do if she finds out why….?"

Ivan turned his attention back to Alfred, who was staring at his clasped hands, shaking. Ivan sank down beside him and squeezed his hand.

"She will not find out." He said simply, smiling assuredly. "She is at work, and I will ask Natalya to delete message on answering machine before I go home. Don't worry about me, _lapushka_." Alfred swallowed heavily.

"Are you _sure _she won't listen to it?" he asked doubtfully. "Natalya's, well, uh, I don't get it—why don't _you_ delete it, Ivan?"

Ivan shook his head. "That does not matter anymore. I am not little boy who needs mother's protection. I will handle this matter myself."

Alfred cussed, and then burst into tears. "Oh Christ, I am NOT gonna be the reason your mother kicks you out. _I can't_….god, why….every single _fucking_ time...I have to ruin ever-"

Ivan seized Alfred and pulled him onto his lap, tugging off his scarf and draping it around Alfred's thin neck, unconsciously rocking the two back and forth. The motion was so similar to Arthur that Alfred let out a snort of laughter even as tears streamed down his face, which were being quickly thumbed away by Ivan. "Nyet, _Солнышко_. Do not cry. Will be fine. Even if my mother does discover truth and she tells me to leave, I will find place to go until college. You managed very well."

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, but just then the door burst open and a harried-looking Mattie poked his head in, flushed.

"Guys, uh, hate to interrupt, but the dean says Ivan needs to be office within the span of two minutes or else he'll personally boot you out of school."

"Go on," Alfred anxiously muttered, giving his boyfriend a good push. For all Ivan gave, he might as well have been a statue. "It's not worth it...I'll be okay..."

Ivan gave Matthew a good, long look, watching Alfred's twin squirm in discomfort. "How ironic is it, that when we are bane of little slime's joke, _we_ are ones making trouble?" Ivan asked softly before he strode out the door. His palms were raw and red with his own nail marks. Matthew hesitated, and then rushed out after him.

"You're an idiot," he called out, cringing when Ivan turned his head to give him a very pleasant, gruesome smile. Matthew allowed a decent berth to grow between them before he spoke again. "You're a freaking _idiot_ if you think that by ignoring _this_, this stalker is just going to leave you guys be."

"Wanted to wait with a bat full of nails the very first day," Ivan said thoughtfully, as if he and Mattie were talking about the weather. "But Alfred asked me to stay with him. But now is twice as unforgivable, and I have had enough." Matthew blinked, looking torn between dismay and hope.

"You're gonna tell your-"

"If she finds out, she finds out, but I will take measures to avoid that if possible. Am done talking about matter, so I will have _discussion_ with culprit."

Matthew started. "You know who it is?"

"I have an idea," said Ivan cheerily. "It will be tested tonight."

"Why, what do you mean to do?"

"They come and leave a surprise every morning, yes? So I will stay after school and wait for our little visitor. All night if need be." They reached the dean's door, and Ivan's purple eyes serenely sparkled, akin to a child's on Christmas morning. "And then, I will teach them true meaning of fear."

Matthew said nothing, but his Adam's apple bobbed. "Artie's gonna get the message on his cell," he said quietly. "And he's probably going to lose it. Chances are, he'll want to give you a hand."

"That is very polite of him," said Ivan dryly as he entered the dean's office without invitation. "But I think I will do very well on own."

~*oOo*~

True to form, Arthur HAD answered his cell and the dean cringed as he held the phone away from his ear, a train of obscenities exploding from the receiver. The angry man had demanded to speak to Alfred immediately, and when Matthew had tentatively picked up the phone to tell him that Alfred was in shock, everyone in the office could hear the distant sound of a door slamming and shoes pounding against concrete.

The dean called Mrs. Braginski, but as Ivan had expected, she didn't answer. Ivan breathed a little more easily, though he was still contemplating images of red-splattered walls. It wasn't long before Arthur burst through the door, panting and covered in a fine sweat.

"Where's Alfred?" he wheezed. When the dean gave him his answer, the man immediately made a beeline for the exit. "I'm taking him out for the day."

The dean frowned. "Mr. Jones, I understand that you're very upset, but we need to discuss this in greater detail. You see—"

"You're _damn_ right we do!" hissed Arthur viciously, whipping his head around. Ivan immediately thought of a kettle boiling over, whistling a shrill siren. "Alfred tells me **nothing **about the fact that someone's sodding after his _life_, and you don't contact me either? What the **fuck** is wrong with you? And you," he snarled, striding over to Ivan and slamming his finger into his chest. "As far as I'm concerned, this whole mess is _your_ fault. You just couldn't leave it let alone, could you?"

Ivan smiled at him. Matthew shifted between the two. The dean let out a nervous laugh. "_Mister_ Jones, I—" But Arthur was on a roll. He shoved his little brother out of the way, glaring at Ivan whilst he looked back with some dark amusement. Arthur didn't seem to realize Ivan was a head or so taller than him, or if he did, didn't care. "You fucking, heartless twat! What do you think is going to happen, in a hotbed of idiot teens? You just had to prove something, didn't you, you rotten bastard? If you REALLY cared about Alfred, you'd leave us alone and—"

"Artie, for god's sakes, chill the fuck out."

Ivan turned his head so quickly that he cricked it; all the red drained out of Arthur's face. An ashed-faced, worn out Alfred was at the door, scowling heavily at his older brother.

Arthur looked like he'd been slapped, but he still rushed to his little brother's side, immediately clapping a hand against his forehead. "Are you alright?" he asked anxiously, looking hurt when Alfred shrugged him off. "You're so pale….are you sure it wasn't poisonous? That doesn't make it a mite better, unless someone was bitten, but you said you weren't, so—"

"Relax. Why'd you have to run out of class for this?" Alfred asked irritably, leaning up against the doorframe and rubbing his face in his hands. "I'm not sayin' I don't appreciate it, but I'm not friggin made of china, Artie. I'm not gonna break or anything. And I know ya wanna play the blame game here, but nobody got hurt, so _please_, just lay off Ivan."

Aghast, Arthur gawped at him, and then seethed. "The devil I will! Alfred, I'm pulling you out of this school at once!"

Alfred's eyes almost popped out of his head. "What? _No_!"

"What can you do?" Arthur demanded, rounding on the dean again. "Alfred's being _stalked,_ for goodness' sake! And you tell me it's been over a week since this started happening and you haven't done anything about it?!"

"There's nothing we CAN do!" the dean snapped. "We don't have a functioning surveillance system, although if I file the school board a request we can perhaps set up a temporary one, and since…well, if Alfred acts a certain way, I can't stop people from making assumptions—"

His voice cut off. It was impossible to tell which face registered more hatred, Ivan's, or Arthur's. The dean hurried on, keen to make amends. "I can provide new lockers for the both of them, if it might help…"

"New lockers? Forget that crap!" Alfred exclaimed angrily. "If I have to carry all my stuff with me twenty-four seven, that's fan-freaking-tastic, but that still leaves the fact that I'm scared for my life! And for Ivan's!"

"All the more reason why you're leaving," Arthur muttered, staring at his hands. Alfred swelled.

"What! Artie, I'm not leaving this school! All my friends are here!"

"Some friends they are, considering the only so-called _support_ you're getting is from a worthless wallflower and a giant Russki!" Arthur snapped.

The room became quiet, so quiet that Ivan could hear a bird chirping somewhere outside. Alfred was staring at his older brother in astonishment, as if he were seeing him for the very first time. Arthur just smiled smugly, triumphantly. Ivan thought it would look better if it were missing a few teeth.

"…fine."

Arthur sighed loudly, brightening considerably. "Great. I'll start looking into transferring you into Bluetooth as soon as—"

"I meant fine, I'll move out," said Alfred mutely. "Head back to the home. I can pack my things in an hour."

"That is not necessary," Ivan offered. "You can stay with us. Mama would be delighted to have you."

Matthew took a cautious glance at Arthur, and almost, _almost_ felt a pang of pity for his older sibling. It seemed as if Arthur been struck across the face, his eyes bulging out their sockets, and the smirk quite gone. "You don't really mean that," Arthur said hoarsely. Ivan thought he looked like someone had literally beaten the wind directly out of him. "You're still a little weak off your feet, you're angry, you're upset…."

"Damn straight I am. What right do you have to talk about my boyfriend and _your brother_ like that, you _bastard_?" Alfred spat. Arthur flinched.

Alfred had never, ever spoken to Arthur like that. While the eldest Jones brother struggled for words, gaping like a fish out of water, Ivan squeezed Alfred's hand and kissed a stray bit of hair.

"You have lots to talk about. Go home," he said gently. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Nah, I'm cool. Besides, if I'm gonna help you kick some ass, the hero's gotta be in action with his trusty sidekick."

"Even heroes need a day off," Ivan returned playfully, seemingly oblivious to Arthur's furious attempts to pull him off of Alfred. "Go home."

"But I—"

"Alfred F Jones, refusing an opportunity to skip class?" asked Matthew softly, "I think you really DO need to lie down. Besides, it isn't like you ever pay attention, anyway." Alfred shot him a wounded look. Arthur hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, and when his scowling brother attempted to shake him off again, the green-eyed man's fingers entwined themselves in Alfred's jacket, his face as imploring as a sad child's, or an exhausted parent's.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. But I think they're right. We need to go home and discuss this." His voice was deadpanned, and his normal pomp and vigor seemed evaporated. Ivan thought it a decisive improvement, even if Arthur did look scared, sick even. Alfred glared at him. "...I was angry and confused and I said things I didn't mean. I'm sorry, Matthew," he said stiffly, peering over Alfred's head to give his brother a cool look. Matthew said nothing, though his dark eyes narrowed just a little. "I'm...sorry, Ivan." He spat the words out as if they were coal dust. "I'm...Alfred, I'm at a loss. I don't know what to do." The words were just barely audible.

Alfred looked down and out the window. Damn it all, he was still angry, but what could he say? Arthur might as well have turned a fire extinguisher on him, and already his foul temper was starting to fade, with the cool waves of pity, which was all the more frustrating considering his resentment was still smoldering inside. What right did Arthur have to be so cruel and just brush it aside as heat from the moment?

The dean tentatively spoke. "Mr. Jones—"

"Alfred, for god's sakes, just break up with him!" Arthur burst out, sounding near hysteria. "I know the allure of puppy love must be very charming and no doubt you think it's something more, but get it through your mind that you ARE a child, and MY responsibility!"

For a moment, the two just glared at each other, Arthur shaking with ill-concealed rage. But when he noticed the tears trickling down Alfred's face, he sighed and reached for him. This time Alfred let him.

"If these threats continue…I'm sorry, but I'll have no choice but to pull you from this school."

"What?! You can't do that, I like my school!" Alfred protested. "Arthur, you're not my dad!"

"I'm bloody well as good as!" Arthur fired back. "And as your legal guardian, I say we're leaving. Immediately! And you can expect a call from my lawyer," he snapped at the dean. "IF I let Alfred come back to this hackhouse at all!"

In the end, nothing was resolved. Arthur led his brother out of school, one arm slung around his shoulder. Ivan watched them go, his expression remarkably passive, though his eyes were narrowed with suspicion and loathing.

* * *

~*oOo*~

Neither Alfred nor Arthur had much to say to each other on the trip back to the apartment. Arthur kept throwing him furtive glances but the younger Jones' sibling only stared ahead of himself, expression a blank. Arthur tried to make small talk on the way, but Alfred only threw him back grunts and non-committal jerks of the head, when in fact he did respond at all.

When the two finally came home and Arthur hesitantly closed the door behind them, it seemed he'd finally had enough.

"Alfred…"

The teen didn't reply. He poured himself a glass of water, but didn't drink it. Arthur sighed.

"I'm doing this for you, you know."

Alfred still said nothing, turning the glass over in his hands like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. His brother bit the inside of his mouth, tasted rust.

"If it were me, I know you'd probably want the same thing: for me to be safe. Can you blame me for getting upset?"

Alfred's hand started shaking, and the young man nearly screamed. Again, _again _Arthur had to use the stupid guilt crap card! If it wasn't him trying to bribe his way back into his brother's good graces, he was trying to wheedle his way back with the whole 'responsibility shit.' Always an excuse. Alfred's eyes flashed.

Why the hell couldn't Arthur just leave him alone for a while?! Ivan wouldn't let him help him catch the creep, even though it had been _his_ fucking locker! What did everyone think he was, some stupid, helpless baby?

Arthur's hand brushed against the small of Alfred's back, and the irritated teen dumped the glass before striding off to their bedroom. He could hear his older brother shout behind him:

"Damn it, Alfred, we're going to fucking talk about this!"

Alfred flung the door open, effectively banging it against the wall before throwing himself on the bed, burying his face in a pillow. A few seconds later, he felt the mattress give slightly, heard the springs creak, and he felt a hand press against the back of his head.

"Don't cry, love, don't cry."

Alfred clung to the dampening pillowcase and said nothing as Arthur stroked his hair for awhile, remaining blissfully quiet. The younger felt his frame shake with silent sobs as Arthur muttered soothingly, resisted the urge to pull his face out of his suffocating hidey hole and bury his face in Arthur's chest the way he'd had as a child.

He wasn't certain what he wanted more; to be alone, or to have company. He wanted to swat Arthur's hands away and scream at him to get the fuck out, because he didn't _deserve_ any coddling, didn't want Arthur cooing and fussing over him and making him tired.

Alfred wished he had Ivan's old scarf to cling to, or better yet, had Ivan. Ivan was quiet when Alfred cried, not overbearing and knew when to wipe tears away and when to let them fall, knew when to try and make Alfred laugh and when to start crooning one of his weird Russian lullabies while Alfred listened to the gentle, dull throb of Ivan's steady heartbeat, inhaling his scent of pine needles and black tea

The boy's blue eyes abruptly filled up with a fresh wave of tears.

_It was **his** fault this whole mess was happening. If Mrs. B found out Ivan was gay, she'd disown him. And Ivan didn't want his help in catching the culprit._ Did he think Alfred wasn't up to kicking a little ass, or was this his way of saying that Alfred screwed things up enough and needed to stay out of the way? Maybe he ought to change schools. But that was the coward's way out, and Alfred didn't want to leave! Besides, who was to say that Ivan still wouldn't be an open target where they were right now?

Alfred's unhappy thoughts were broken up like ice as he felt his shirt slowly ride up his body. Confused, he made to turn his head around, but Arthur just rolled the fabric to his shoulders and proceeded to rub his back, kneading the muscles. This was normally something Alfred did for Arthur, when the older man would complain of a stiff neck after hours of poring over books.

Alfred grunted in appreciation, albeit somewhat grudgingly. "…thanks."

"Any time."

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Then, Alfred rolled onto his side, blue eyes dull. "…are ya really gonna make me switch schools? I don't want to."

Arthur cast him an frustrated, exhausted look. Alfred wondered at the shadows under his eyes—he definitely didn't look like he were sleeping well lately. Maybe he looked the same. When was the last time he'd looked at himself in a mirror? "Alfred, I'm not going to let you play in a mine field just because your friends happen to be there. Letting you go back to a place where you could possibly get killed is no different."

Pain shot through Alfred, and his eyes dimmed. "But if we catch the jerk responsible…."

"They won't likely will. There's usually more than one culprit responsible in things like this." Arthur buried his face in his hands, and Alfred sat up and squeezed his shoulder. He was feeling pretty rotten, hell, he was still shaking a little whenever he thought of that damn snake—but Arthur looked like he was handling this worse than he was.

"Hey, cheer up, Artie. Things could be worse."

"I'm sorry."

Alfred shook his head, a little baffled. "Uh, don't know what you have to be sorry for right this sec, but okay."

His older brother withdrew his hands and stared at his hands. "Maybe you wouldn't have to change if you just broke up with Braginski," he said hopefully. "Your situation might change from bad to worse at a different school if people found out…"

"I can't break up with Ivan!" Alfred exclaimed. "And who says they'd find out?"

"Still, I'm worried that if they can get to you that way, learning your combination…." Arthur shook his head, looking troubled. "If they get angry enough, they might try to pursue you and Braginski outside of school, if they haven't already." A pause. Arthur paled considerably. He looked sick. "They haven't, have they?"

Alfred did a noncommittal jerk of his shoulders. Arthur sighed and ruffled Alfred's hair affectionately. "You're such a git."

"B-but it's not that serious, is it?"

Arthur crushed Alfred to him. "I don't know. Alfred, you're sixteen years old. Not out of high school. You've discovered your….preference…" The words were awkward and Alfred could almost hear Arthur blush. "And you're dating your childhood chum. I'm sure that the world seems like it's your oyster right now, but—"

"Oh yeah," Alfred muttered sarcastically. "Besides the nasty messages, the sick pranks, and people talking behind my back and crap, I'm having a ball."

Arthur gave him a sad look before leaning in to kiss him on the forehead.

"Stiff upper lip, Alfred. People grow up, and the world gets kinder, more accepting. But think about what I said. If you break up with Ivan, I have a feeling these threats will go away." He sighed and brushed a hand through his younger sibling's hair. "You're much too young for a boyfriend in any case. You have plenty of time to fall in love."

Alfred just lay against the sheets, too tired to protest, even as resentment flickered inside of him. Why did Arthur have to make him feel like such a naïve, naughty child?

Arthur smiled down at him, patting his head.

"I'm going to make us some lunch," he commented, making to stand up. But Alfred's hands shot out and tangled in Arthur's shirt.

"Wait," Alfred rasped, his voice cracking. "Stay here. _Please_."

Arthur continued to gawk at him for a moment or two, and then his weary expression took on a look so tender it about broke Alfred's heart, though he wasn't sure why.

"Of course, love." The bedsprings creaked again as he lay down, and Alfred buried his face into Arthur's shoulder, listening whilst Arthur hummed an old cradle song their mother used to sing before drifting off into dark, uneasy dreams.

~*oOo*~

"Ivan, please don't do this," Matthew begged, his hands twisted around each other. "Trust me, I KNOW how angry you are and how much you'd like to kick some ass—"

"'Kicking' is rather a light term for what I wish to do," Ivan said thoughtfully, stroking the pipe he held in his hands. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'forcing sharp end of pipe up before stabbing it through teeth and letting it pop out through neck.'" Matthew winced.

School had let out for the day, but Ivan lingered. Matthew had spent the majority of the day trying to convince him to forget about his plan, but he might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all Ivan gave. "I called Natalya and told her to delete the message before Mother gets home. I also added that I was staying after school to dislocate someone's spine." Matthew groaned and sank to his knees, looking ill.

"You couldn't have told her anything else?" he asked weakly. Ivan shrugged.

"Nyet. If I had told her that I was staying at a friend's house, she would have been suspicious, er, very likely extremely angry. The only thing she had to say after I told her my intentions was to not track blood all over building."

"I just told my parents I was staying with Alfred tonight…which is what both of us should be doing," he said reprovingly, "Arthur be damned. Al puts up a brave front, but he's…he's not doing so well right now." He sighed. "The last thing he needs is Arthur smothering him, probably'll make him scared out of his mind if it doesn't drive him crazy and make him want to act out and do something stupid. C'mon, Iv, let's go see him. This can wait."

"It cannot," Ivan insisted, though he sounded a little doubtful right now. "I want to catch culprit in the act."

"Iv, even if you do, these people are probably fucking _dangerous_-"

The Russian let out a hearty laugh. "They have not met me yet, then. Though I very much think they have, and that they are just very, very stupid little mouse."

Matthew just considered him warily. "You said you had an idea who it was. Who...who do you think it is?"

Ivan beamed at him, radiating a deadly vigor.

"Why, Arthur of course!"

~*oOo*~

* * *

Alfred did not sleep soundly. Snakes kept weaving in and out of dark dreams, sometimes lunging out at him with poisonous fangs, other times wrapping him up in coils so tightly that he couldn't move. An enormous serpent had captured him at one point, and was dragging him down a dark void even as he writhed and fought for freedom, knowing that the black meant certain death.

Somewhere, someone was screaming bloody murder. He'd gotten so frantic that he started crying, begging the snake to have a heart and let him run to the aid of whoever was crying so fiercely, but the serpent just kept assuring him of his protection and kept gliding along, oblivious to the fear that had exploded in his heart, left him calling out uselessly for help as the snake tilted downward, hurtling into the darkness with him faster and faster and faster until—

"Wake up, poppet, wake up. I have to leave now."

Alfred started wildly, panicking like a bird that woke up to find itself in a cat's jaws. Whimpering, he sat up and the nightmare evaporated to the safety of his bedroom, cracked ceiling and all. Arthur was sitting next to him, looking worried. "Are you okay?"

"F-fine." _He's not fine, he's not fine, someone put a fucking snake and dead animals in his locker and might very well want him dead_. He scrubs his eyes, because he can almost hear Arthur's eyes narrow; the older boy knows him too well to believe him. "Why'd ya wake me? You don't have class tonight."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Yes, well...I have to go out. There's something I need to take care of."

Alfred whimpered. The idea of being alone is almost more sickening than being dragged off by that enormous snake. Arthur smoothed his hair and kissed the one rogue strand. "You'll be fine, I'm sure. But just the same, I'll be calling at least two or three times before I come back-via housephone," he said warningly, and Alfred felt the inane urge to both laugh and scream. "If I don't hear from you, I'll be back immediately."

"Can't whatever you're doing wait?" Alfred asked in a small voice, hating himself for it. "I don't want to be alone."

Arthur smiled regretfully and shook his head, his eyes warm. "I'm afraid not, love. It'll only be for an hour or two, if even that. Go back to sleep, and I'll be back soon."

Alfred just nodded slowly before sinking back against the pillows. He thought he felt Arthur peck him on the cheek before listening to him leave the room, close the door, and lock it from the outside. Then, the sound of receding footsteps.

He had no intention of going back to sleep. Not without a warm body to pull him back out of a nightmare. Alfred knew it was ridiculous, knew he wasn't a baby, but with the bad dream came a near-crippling sense of dread that if he let his eyes close, the snake would be there, waiting for its chance to pull Alfred away into some dark hole and reared back with a hiss before swooping down to eat him-

God. He watched too many freaking horror movies. He thought about going to the kitchen to make coffee, but didn't want to leave the room. He imagined that would make him open game to something, but he didn't know what.

Alfred clutched a pillow to his chest, pretending it was Arthur soothing him, and dared not shut his eyes.

* * *

"You're late."

Arthur's voice was sickly sweet and dangerous, like poisoned honey. Natalya's mean eyes bored into his, but the man would not look away. The Russian snorted, the corners of her lips lifting up into yet another rare, unpleasant smile.

The eldest of the Jones brothers was sitting at a booth in a dark corner of an Italian restaurant. Natalya Braginski had shown up just seconds ago, normally morose face alight with smugness.

"I had no idea your brother was so frightened of snakes," she said calmly as she sat down in a seat opposite Arthur's, fingering something almost lovingly in her skirt pocket. "It's a pity you didn't stick around for the show. I only wish I had taped it."

"You had **no** right to do that!" Arthur growled, forcing his face into an ugly smile when the waitress wandered over. Judging from her cringe, it wasn't a good look for him. After impatiently ordering water and watching her bustle away, the blond rounded on Natalya furiously.

"That was a foul, _foul _move, you rat. Alfred was bit by a garden snake when he was just six years old! Our goal is to protect our brothers from their idiocy—not send them home with **panic attacks**! Al-" His voice shook. "Al was _scared out of his mind_!"

Natalya raised an eyebrow.

"He's your brother, not mine," she said simply as a waiter brought them over a bread basket and a bowl of oil. She helped herself to a slice, neatly dipping it in the liquid before nibbling daintily. "If he has a weak stomach, that's his own fault. And you never mentioned that _anything_ counts as foul play, you son of a whore." She wiped her lips with a napkin, ignoring her seething companion. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm just that more dedicated to our cause."

Arthur let out a long sigh, looking dismayed as he took another swig of his drink.

"I definitely doubt that, though I warn you, if you did anything to actually _hurt_ Alfred, I promise your brother would regret it, if he were stable enough to form a cognitive thought." When Natalya scoffed, Arthur smirked at her, his green sea-glass eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh really? Your mother told me an interesting story about your oaf of a brother—"

Natalya staggered to her feet with a snarl.

"DO NOT CALL HIM THAT!"

People were turning their heads to stare. Arthur calmly continued on as if there had been no interruption.

"—being deathly allergic to bee stings! Now, wouldn't it be_ unfortunate_ if your brother just so happened to find a hive of buzzing insects in….oh, let's just say, his locker, his sock drawer, his backpack, _on his head_?"

Natalya's face went red, then white. "You wouldn't dare."

"You'd be surprised, madam," said Arthur darkly. "Sit down." Natalya did not.

"So giving someone a good scare isn't acceptable, but killing someone is? In that case, I swear I'll take my knife and—"

"Our enemy is _not_ each other, Natalya!" snapped Arthur impatiently, for Natalya looked ready to grab the bread knife on the table and slit his throat. "For god's sake, if we keep this up, we'll be fighting each other while your Russki and Alfred make out at wild parties! _Do you want that?"_

That silenced Natalya, though she still glowered at him. Arthur sighed and reached for his own piece of bread, buttering it.

"Then shut up and listen to what I have to say. This strategy isn't working, and I think I know why."

"Because you're an idiot?" offered Natalya, reluctantly sitting down again. Arthur ignored her.

"It's all a matter of psychology. They're teenagers, ergo they want to be rebellious. They can tell someone would obviously rather they didn't date, so they clutch to each other all the tighter, convinced that what they have is true love." Arthur snorted. "Take fickle Romeo and naïve Juliet for example; they killed themselves to make a _point_, not out of any overpowering affection for each other. What we need to use is reverse psychology."

The Russian girl's bitter, wintry eyes blazed.

"You suggest we do nothing?"

Arthur frowned. "I _suggest _we focus our attention from promoting public disapproval and let our brothers sabotage their relationship themselves. Let them see who _really_ cares enough to step in when the world is rotting away."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, you little clot. Spread a few rumors, and before you know it the two will be screaming at each other like any other idiot teenage couple." Arthur took a sip of water and considered his own interlocked fingers. "We keep enough pressure on the both of them at home to end the relationship while stressing the benefits. And Natalya," he added, looking up at the girl, who glared at him with mutual dislike. "I think it's time you corner your brother about his relationship."

Natalya looked stunned. Arthur went on: "I assume he hasn't told any of you yet? If worse comes to worst, then you can simply tell your horse-raping mother the truth, or at least threaten to."

"I can't," snapped Natalya. "If she were to find out…."

"Well, she'll find out sooner or later if you keep insisting on pulling such vicious tricks without discussing it with me first!" Arthur exclaimed, banging his fist on the table. Natalya hissed like an angry cat.

"You didn't discuss that dead rodent with me. Or all those rotted sunflowers. Or the water balloon filled with _paint_." Her voice was steadily becoming dangerous.

"Yes, well, I don't recall giving you permission to slash open Alfred's tires," retorted Arthur irritably. "Or whatever awful things that you've done to him that he won't tell me about. My only solution to you is this: Let them destroy the relationship, but don't you _dare_ go after my brother's health, mental or otherwise." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, another hoarse, shuddering sigh escaping him. Guilt transfixed his features so heavily Arthur looked like he was in mortal agony.

"Alfred's been hurt so much already," the man said wanly, a stark contrast to his prior brutal tone. "I can't let this continue. I have to see that he's safe. You understand that, right?"

Natalya just glowered at him. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

At last Natalya cleared her throat, voice deadpanned:

"Very well, Arthur Kirkland, but if this does not work, I will declare all out war on your brother. There will be nothing stopping me from threatening his miserable little life."

"Interesting," Arthur returned, strangely composed. "And what makes you think that your brother's head won't be on the chopping block too?" he asked coldly, watching Natalya blanch.

"I will protect him. He will be safe from the likes of you."

Arthur let out a harsh bark of laughter.

"Oh, I doubt that, little witch. Alfred's my first priority; I see you so much as _look_ at him the wrong way—" (_Look at him at all_, Arthur mentally added) "—and I'll cut your lungs out. I feel guilty enough that I've had to hurt my own boy to keep him safe, but I won't hesitate to hurt you to protect him. Make no mistake."

Natalya unwrapped her linen napkin, admired her knife for a moment, and then plunged it into the table, twisting into the white cloth even as the blade tip slipped deeper and deeper into the wood. Arthur raised an eyebrow, not doing a thing to stop it even when Natalya knocked over his glass, creating dark purple stains that were immediately sucked up by the greedy white linen.

"If this doesn't work, everything goes," she said simply.

"True, but give it time. And considering Braginski is going to be waiting there tonight, I'd advise you not make a move right now."

Natalya abruptly turned round and left without another word. Arthur twisted around his now empty glass, humming faintly to himself.

"Everything goes," he said thoughtfully, snuffing out the flame of the nearby candle. He pulled out a small, warm locket—one of the few fine things he owned—from under his shirt and flicked it open.

There was Alfred, tiny and perfect and beaming and wrapped up in little blankets like a present. Arthur was standing behind him in his holiday best, chest puffed out and smiling broadly. Matthew had been in the original picture, but Arthur had cut him out of it years ago.

Arthur's eyes eyes misted over, and he pressed the warm picture to his lips before snapping the metal shut, tucking it back against his heart, next to an old, tiny plastic ring.

"I'm sorry," Arthur choked out, voice cracked with pain. "What happened then...it was my fault. But I'll keep you safe, love. I won't let anyone hurt you anymore. It's okay."

* * *

~*oOo*~

Matthew fell asleep around one in the morning, his head lolling against the lockers. Ivan waited in the shadows, alert, tense, but even when light slowly began to creep back into the near-deserted building, no one came.

The next day, Alfred returned to class pale and wan, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Ivan stayed close by his side as the two trudged to class under piles of great many books. They had each been assigned new lockers, but neither of them were willing to use them. Unfortunately, it just meant that the two spent more time in the hallways, where they remained open targets.

Matthew had taken to walking with them more often, sending furious glares at anyone who stared at the three of them, but unfortunately this had the opposite effect the Bonnefoy desired; aspirations were now being cast on his sexuality too, and Mattie walked out to the parking lot one day to discover that someone had broken his window.

A few religious organizations at school made rescuing Alfred from his homosexuality their new mission (Apparently, Ivan was too scary to try and save). When Ivan did not walk beside Alfred (Which in the Russian's defense was very rare), Alfred found himself the unwilling host to a great many students who wanted to share with him the good news that if he fell to his knees and begged for mercy, maybe he wouldn't be doomed for eternal damnation.

One day, Ivan opened his gym locker (neither Alfred nor Ivan's had yet been touched) to find that it had been stuffed almost entirely to the brim with dark green leaves.

Ivan rolled his eyes and began to pull them out, muttering a foul curse underneath his breath. Well, at least it was only leaves, and nothing more. All things considered, he'd gotten lucky.

But while he was running laps, he noticed that his hands were prickling unpleasantly, and soon they began to itch. By the end of the period they had swollen considerably,

"Stop! You'll make it worse!" exclaimed Alfred, seizing Ivan by the elbows and taking a careful look at the darkening rash. "What the _hell_…."

"Please!" begged Ivan, hands twitching with longing. "Want to scratch, scratch, scratch!"

Alfred ran to the trashbin, wrapping a tissue around his hand before carefully tugging out a leaf, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

"Iv…these aren't oak leaves. Vanya," choked out Alfred, all the color draining out of his face. "These leaves…they're **_poison oak!"_**

* * *

~*oOo*~

"I'm sorry."

"Shut the hell up, baby."

"I'm still sorry."

"Shhh."

The final bell of the day had rang, but both Ivan and Alfred had stayed After a quick trip to the nurse's office, Ivan's swollen hands were now covered with lotion and well-bandaged. He didn't complain, but Alfred still grimaced in sympathy for him. He'd had poison oak before.

Now the two were in the janitor's closet. Alfred was sitting on an overturned bucket, staring at the floor. Ivan was leaning up against the shelves, expression impassive.

Alfred snorted humorlessly, chin in his hands. "Maybe we are setting ourselves up for all kinds of crap. If anyone sees us walkin' out a closet together, someone might throw another tomato."

"Da," Ivan agreed. "And I might have to catch another tomato and crush it in their eyes."

"That _was_ kind of funny."

The Russian exhaled and thrust his bandaged hands in his pockets. "I've been waiting every day," he snarled. "Every _day_, and no one comes. But they_ still_ get around me. I am sorry, Alfredka. I am miserable excuse for boyfriend."

"Shaddup," Alfred muttered, standing up to give Ivan an awkward hug. Ivan couldn't really reciprocate, so he just leaned in, pressing his face into Alfred's shoulder and inhaling. "I just wish you'd stop this whole 'waiting to ambush 'em crap.' Don't get me wrong, I think it's great," he added hastily. "But they seem onto you somehow."

Ivan drew his head back, staring at the bulb dully shining overhead. "Yes….you are certain you tell no one about it?"

"Like I said, I told Artie one time and then kept my trap shut. Mattie knows. And Natalya knows, cause you call her every day and tell her to tell yer Ma that you're 'studying.'" Alfred held up his fingers for quotation marks and snickered. "So that makes four people who know. Maybe Natalya's tellin' a friend of hers?"

The creased lines on Ivan's forehead deepened. "I suppose that is possibility…"

Alfred groaned. "Iv, I hate this. I don't wanna look at the people I fucking love and try to imagine 'em ratting us out. I know Artie doesn't like this, but he'd never go after my blood. Or yours. He doesn't hate you _that_ much."

Silence. Ivan sighed.

"Is alright," The Russian said gently. "If you want to leave me. I will understand. Maybe they will leave you alone."

"Vanya!"

"Do not get me wrong, I will still catch whoever's responsible." Ivan assured him as Alfred seized his face and made him look at him. "And I will kill them."

"I don't give a shit about that. Hell, if we gotta put up with this until we graduate…." The blond took a deep breath. "I'm _willing_ to put up with it. If you are. I'll be your hired goon and knock back the jackasses that call you names or put kick me signs on your back. No one lays a finger on _my_ man!"

Ivan just gaped at him. Alfred's determined frown wavered into a look of sheer mortification. "Oh, God," he moaned, turning around, forehead pressed against the narrow space. "Pretend I didn't say that. That was….oh, man, if Mattie finds out I'm gonna throw up in my mouth. I—"

"Alfred."

He turned around, his face a bright pink. The roses in his cheeks only blossomed when he saw Ivan's face, previously cold, and marked with a childish smile that would look pleasant only from a great distance. But now Ivan's smile had evolved into something soft, something amused, something grateful and happy all at once. Something with a hint of childish shyness and excitement, glowing and warm.

Ivan chuckled when Alfred buried his face in his jacket, grumbling. "….you're lucky you're adorable."

"Hardly," Ivan scoffed, warmth returning with his next words. "But you are most adorable ever." He raised his hand towards Alfred's cheek, only to regretfully tug back. "…I do not want you to get poison oak."

"Poison oak, poison shmoak," Alfred returned bluntly, bending up on tiptoe to press his lips against Ivan's. Ivan let out a pleased hum, his pale lips molding to Alfred's, a hint of tongue brushing against his bottom lip, caressing it.

Alfred started and the hot muscle slipped inside the cavern of his mouth, curling around his own. Bewildered, feeling heat starting to pool in his face, the teen moaned softly and tentatively tangled his tongue around Ivan's, which was lapping at his softly. Alfred's hands flew to Ivan's shoulders, his toes starting to shake a little as he greedily started plundering Ivan's own mouth, hot sighs meshing over wanting lips, soothing them.

Ivan pulled back, leaving a confused Alfred dazedly staring at him, a flicker of resentment in his eyes before he squawked. Very carefully, trying not to touch Alfred with his hands, Ivan wrapped his forearms around his waist before lifting him atop the bucket. Alfred rolled his eyes as Ivan smiled up at him. "Oh, ha, ha, ha, Vanya, pick on the short kid. Wait until after college, when I'm six feet taller than you, and—"

Ivan abruptly crushed his lips back to Alfred's, cutting him off. Warmth pooled in his face, coiling in the bottom of his stomach, and Alfred let his hands cup Ivan's face, a wonderful, incredibly right sort of ache building inside.

"I want to touch you," Ivan growled when the two broke apart to breathe.

"So touch me."

Ivan's hands flew to Alfred's back, massaging the muscles and Alfred tipped back and forth, reeling. Backward onto the digits, forward onto Ivan's lips. He couldn't decide which one.

One kiss became two, three, four. They kept pulling apart to breathe, but either Alfred kept diving back for more or Ivan did. He couldn't tell. The tiny room was closing in on them both, becoming unbearably warm. Alfred's jacket dropped to the ground—Ivan helped shrug it off—and his lips buried themselves in the hollow of Alfred's throat. He flailed, tipped dangerously back and forth on the bucket, was held fast by Ivan's hot, shaking arms wrapping around his torso, holding him fast while Ivan eagerly accosted his pulse with his lips and tongue. Alfred mewled, pushed back against Ivan as his heart went into overdrive in his chest, pounding so loudly that he could almost hear the hot rush of blood underneath the sounds of gasps and moans.

But when Ivan's teeth eagerly brushed against the skin, the boy immediately tensed up and leaned back against the wall, his shaking feet scrambling for a purchase atop the bucket. Ivan froze, his misty violet eyes suddenly becoming overbright.

"Please don't….no…hickeys or anything like that," Alfred begged, his face still flushed, grabbing the wall for support.

Ivan bent his head; Alfred couldn't see his face. The bottom dropped out of his stomach as if a trapdoor had been installed there.

"I am sorry," the Russian stammered. "I got carried away—will not let anyone see—"

"It's not that," Alfred assured, him, stepping off the bucket and wrapping his arms around Ivan's chest, listening to Ivan's heart fluttering like a bird inside him. "I'm all yours, babe, but I hate, just friggin' _hate_ the thought of 'love bites' and all that crap." Alfred blew upwards, making that one stubborn strand of hair flutter slightly. "I hate…feeling like a thing that needs marking, like cattle. I'm gonna stick with ya whether ya like it or not, Vanya, so no need for that."

Ivan still did not lift his head, so Alfred took hold of his chin and lifted it up, feeling as if a vice were squeezing his heart when the Russian gave him a sad look. "Oh, Vanya, if you want to do it so bad it's not that big a deal—"

"Is not that," Ivan murmured, a hint of a smile appearing when Alfred playfully bumped their noses together and rubbed them in an Eskimo kiss. "I am sorry. I did not know you felt—"

"Hey, every couple's gotta go through this, right? I'll find out what you like and don't like too." Alfred inhaled and snuggled his face in Ivan's scarf. "It's cool. I kinda wish we weren't in a stupid janitor's closet, though," he added with a rueful grin. "And that you didn't have poison oak. I'd love for us to…keep exploring." His eyes sparkled with laughter. "Would ya like to do that again?"

Ivan's face went pink. "Da, plea-" He whipped his head up, and alarm flashed through his features, accompanied by something like fury. Hissing, Ivan flew to the door and wrenched it open, staggering out into the deserted hallway, eyes flashing both ways. Alfred staggered out after him, looking extremely confused.

"Vanya, wha..."

Ivan had seen but a hint of hair whipping out of sight, heard footsteps patter down the hall, their echo fading, lost even as he dashed after it.

* * *

She'd come to write a bit more gossip on Alfred in both bathrooms. Saw her brother ducking in the closet with that two-bit whore. And now, tearing down the steps of the building, she was seeing red.

Natalya ran. And ran. And ran until she fell to the ground, hot tears dripping down her flushed face. With a howl, the tiny girl curled up on the sidewalk then and there, and cried.

* * *

_He pulled back out, trying to catch his breath. Sweat was trickling down his body, and he snatched the blankets covering them both, throwing them to the floor. Suddenly Alfred was lying beneath him exposed. Tan skin and long legs and soft skin sprawled out over Arthur's bed, beautifully, wonderfully exposed. Foggy eyes slowly wandered to Arthur, reflecting his own green eyes in the definitive blue. Alfred smiled, a sleepy child's smile, his eyes consumed with the love Arthur felt burning away at him. _

_The love didn't reduce him to ashes. The fire came from the forges, making him glow with energy, making him strong as steel. But Arthur's eyes still welled up with tears when Alfred's legs circled his waist, and his brother begged him to touch him. _

_Gasping, he smugly obliged, watching the perfect curve of Alfred's back as he arched beautifully off the bed with a strangled moan, his eyes closing in pleasure. Arthur sank deeper and deeper into him to the hilt, a savage urge to mark Alfred as much as possible consuming his strangled thoughts like dry straw around a wildfire—_

_Alfred unexpectedly spoke up, sounding bewildered. _

"Artie, the **_hell_ **is this?!"

~*oOo*~

Arthur stared out over the balcony, feeling very much that he would like to jump over the side and be crushed on the sidewalk below. His face was still beet red, his hands still twisted in his hair. The sharp sting of bile nudged at his throat, and Arthur had to swallow hard to keep the food churning anxiously inside of him down. Every nerve of his body was burning with shame.

Few things are as embarrassing as accidentally ejaculating over one's bedmate. Few things are as mortifying as accidentally doing it on your younger sibling.

The world trembling around him, Arthur seized the railing and tried with all his might not to throw up.

"I am SO gonna remember this," Alfred complained, fastening the last inch of the clothespin over the still damp, fluttering sheets.

"Spare me."

Arthur turned away with a dark scowl, heading back inside. Alfred wandered back in with him, smelling of flowers and laundry detergent.

"Least it's a beautiful day out…." The younger boy mused, smirking slightly when he saw Arthur bury his face at the kitchen table. Laughing, Alfred wandered over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Awww, c'mon, Artie, 'snot like I'm gonna tell anyone about it or anything."

Arthur whipped his head back up, teeth bared. "You better not. If you tell _anyone_…."

Alfred mimed closing his mouth with a key. "My lips are sealed. You never weaseled me out when I used to wet the bed at the children's home, remember? Same thing."

_Try me, buster. _

Alfred sank down beside him, admiring the world outside the glass door. "You know, walkin' up those flights of stairs every day is a real pain in the ass, but at least we get a nice view." Arthur hid his face again, and Alfred shot his brother a confused look. "C'mon, bro, I won't even remember this after lunch. Get over it."

He'd been having another beautiful—albeit unacceptable—dream with Alfred in his arms, only to be smacked upside the head with a pillow and discover the warm wetness in his pants, which unfortunately had seeped over to Alfred's side of the bed.

But that hadn't been the worst of it.

Alfred had woken up to _something _poking him, and found himself clutched in Arthur's arms while the man hissed and thrust his pelvis into his back, still in the throes of sleep. Arthur thanked whatever God might be that he hadn't been groaning Alfred's name.

That wouldn't have spelled disaster. It would have spelled the end.

"Hey, Artie? Maybe I should sleep on the couch tonight," Alfred offered awkwardly, smiling nervously as Arthur slowly looked up at him. "Hell, maybe it's time we invest in getting another bed, even if it is secondhand."

Of course. Arthur nodded absently. The best, cleanest option—he'd had a very narrow escape. But he didn't want that and he knew Alfred didn't want that. "We've always shared a bed."

"Yeah, but I'm thinking that I'm uh, a little old to be sharing with you now, Artie." The boy blushed and coughed sheepishly while Arthur's hands tightened around his coffee mug.

_No. You're not too old, you'll never be too old, you're my baby, and you're **mine**. _

Arthur blinked at the almost violent surge of energy that had reared inside, slightly disoriented and confused. But the rush of fiery thoughts seemed to have disappeared, so he decided to pull the conversation away from his…accident. "Won't you be crawling in beside me anyway after you've watched those scary movies I'm always telling you to let alone?"

"As you'd say, sod off, bro." Alfred laughed and stared at Arthur thoughtfully. "Uh, who were you thinking of?"

"Amelia."

* * *

The earliest scribble Natalya Braginski had made of her sister Katyusha had been a small gray rectangle with a flurry of angry red and yellow spikes surrounding it. She made the drawing almost immediately after Mama told her the story of Hansel and Gretel. Natalya had been a very impressionable child.

To little Natalya, the idea of listening to Katyusha scream and sob as she bubbled away to a pile of scorched skin and bones had been strangely satisfying, though she never quite understood why, exactly. She'd tugged on Katyusha's skirts whenever she needed help reaching for tall things and had tolerated her embraces, but she'd certainly never felt more than a flicker of affection for her eldest sibling. That rare and occasional feeling had been a mere spark plated against the inferno of sheer **loathing** that could envelop Natalya at the most random of occasions.

That too was difficult to explain; everyone adored Katyusha, and while she was certainly a teary, overbearing creature at times, there was no doubt in Natalya's mind that Katyusha was a good and loving sibling.

Too loving. A suspicious and untrustworthy figure, considering how close she was to Ivan. And Natalya wanted her to burn because of it.

Perhaps it was for the mere reason that she had drawn herself as the heroic Gretel who had rescued poor brother Hansel (Ivan) by shoving a witch into an oven that she felt the desire to demonize Katyusha into a witch that needed to be done away with. But on the evenings when she was not dreaming of walking down the aisle with Ivan at her side, she would run through a sea of what-ifs.

What if Katyusha were to have an accident? What if her tenderhearted and foolish sister by some slip of misfortune walked across the street only to be struck down by a car? These things happened. What if she became very sick with some sort of terrible disease? That sort of thing happened as well. What if she happened to fall down the stairs in her own home because she'd tripped on one of Natalya's playthings and cracked her head open?

Natalya imagined her sister lying still and quiet in a white coffin, her pale face composed for death as Ivan wept beside his little sister. Even as these thoughts danced through her head, she couldn't feel anything but a faint sense of relief and duty as she dreamed of Ivan clinging to HER, not to the too-loving and too-suspicious Katyusha. Even after contemplating Mama dead and ready to join her eldest daughter inside the ground, Natalya felt no horror, nor any remorse in her idle sketches of Mama being torn into pieces by a vengeful Papa's ghost.

Ivan could not go to sleep forever within a burial plot; wherever he went, she would go, and so his death would mean her own.

When exactly she had started to adore him, it was impossible to tell. Occasionally when Natalya had read one too many romance novels, she fantasized that she and Ivan had been the goddess and god Osiris and Isis in a past life, the brother-sister/husband-wife couple destined to be linked for eternity, existence after existence.

No, Natalya did not love her brother. The word 'love' was paltry, full of falsehoods and people warping the meaning with empty promises and sweet nothings. What she felt for Ivan was the fire in her bellows, the source of her life that moved the gears of her body, sent them whirring and clicking in motion. He was precious, undeniably so, and so she decided before she could toddle that she would never let anyone take him away from her.

Arthur Kirkland Jones had been extremely fortunate. His parents had died, his spare brother swept under the rug, and so he eventually got full custody of the one he loved. Enviable fate! Natalya would have worked her fingers to the bone every day of her wretched life to support her and Ivan if she had been in such a happy position; so long as it meant that she could stumble home every night into Ivan's waiting arms, nothing else would matter.

Eventually those days would come. They WOULD, even if the swine Alfred Jones had gotten to her brother's lips first. It didn't matter. She would have them last.

Alfred.

The name made her want to tear her hair out of her head, or rather tear Alfred's out before she tore out his eyes and left him an ugly, faceless doll. The name was nasty, obnoxious, intrusive into the neat little bubble Natalya felt encircling her and Ivan in the too hot and ugly country they now called home.

The day of the atrocity, her big brother was acting strange, cross and anxious, and it troubled her. Ivan spent much of the afternoom barricaded in his room, and he'd changed the lock again, this time opting for one bought from the hardware store; she'd been unable to pick her way through with a hairpin. She'd waited by the door for what felt like hours and when it had finally flew open, Ivan had roughly brushed past her, hurried down the stairs and out the door.

Like a good sister, like a good lover, she had rushed out after him, herself unseen. Hope had kindled in her heart like a pleasant hearth-fire when she saw he was at the flower-shop; was he at last acknowledging his feelings for his sweet and buying her flowers?

No. Or if he had been, that horrid little American pig had shown up and spoiled everything.

When she saw her brother's lips connect to the filthy pig's, it hadn't hurt. There hadn't been anything left to hurt. The roar echoing in her ears might have been hers—it would have explained why her throat felt like it was ready to tear—but she had been caught in a sadness so overpowering that she had crumpled onto the pavement, sick with dread.

This was a savage betrayal. Hadn't she made her feelings perfectly clear? Wasn't Ivan obliged to accept them joyously, because she loved him sweeter and stronger and **better** than anyone else?

Cold and wet, she'd watched with hateful, bloodshot eyes as Ivan and Alfred had walked away, hand in hand. How sickening.

It was a mistake. A mistake. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and bit until she tasted rust. A terrible, **horrible** mistake and Ivan needed his sister to save him. And she would. She would.

Searing bolts of pain rippled through her tiny frame, as if someone had driven through her insides with a rusty poker. She curled up then and there on the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream.

By the time she'd finally dragged herself home, exhausted and heartbroken, she could only stare at her scrapbook, her sore and bleeding hands trembling so violently the book devoted to her love slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground.

**Love me. **

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I would do anything for you.

**Notice me.**

If she could keep him captive in a cage, she certainly would, if it would only mean that he would look at her. She would give him everything she needed and he would hold her even as she worshiped him.

And for that happen, Alfred Fucking Jones had to learn to stay away. Arthur would be much better off with his little doll if he broke its legs, stole it away to some distant corner of the world, and never ever looked back.

That would be what Natalya would do in his situation. What she craved to do in her own. That was why she'd searched a swamp for hours until she found a snake, picked it up with a pair of tongs before stuffing the hissing, thrashing creature into a sack. Later on, she broke into Alfred's locker and deposited the unhappy creature inside.

The dominoes had to fall before she could have her prize. Her footsteps coming home that evening sang a mantra:

Love me. Love me, love me, love me, love me, **love me. **

If she fantasized Katyusha burning, she dreamed of Alfred lying facedown in a pool of blood.

**Only me.**

And after seeing her brother's hands on Alfred, something delicate inside Natalya snapped. Forget her truce with Arthur Kirkland. Alfred would have to pay for what he did, and in order for him to do so, Natalya needed to borrow the revolver Mama kept upstairs.

Just for a moment.

* * *

**Next half will be ready tomorrow-sorry it's not all on here, but I promised a friend that I would do my best for an update tonight. Please review!  
**


	12. The Secret Schemes of a Bride in Black

**~*A Woman Scorned, Part II*~**

**Or**

**The Secret Schemes of a Bride in Black.**

**Hello, my dears...so much for the 'tomorrow' crap...over one month later. Feel awful. I'm very sorry! :'( I need to better schedule my updates, though in my defense I did accidentally lose more of this story when my computer suddenly decided to shut down for updates. *Curls up into ball and dies a little inside* I'm also really worried that this story and Psycho are now just a little **_too_ **much alike...please give me your feedback. I value it so much. :)**

**True confession: I don't like the word cowlick. :-p**

**For the fanart of this story-Fynniona, your pictures of the last chapter made me cry, and Hyper K, for your continued support and lovely drawings, I glomp you. **

**To all my lovely reviewers, you make my heart go yay! If I could track each of you down and give you a hug, I definitely would!**

* * *

_Fast Forward: One Hundred And Sixty-Eight Hours Ahead of Present Time_

_Creak, creak._

_Creak, creak._

Just an hour ago, rage, betrayal and fear had been miraculously transformed into _joy_. Beautiful, incredulous joy and the deliciousness of exposed skin against skin, of hands treading and tangling through hair, hot gasps and moans and bodies tangling within and without. Whimpers. The pleading pitch of his lover's voice, beautiful eyes hazed over with love, love and lust. Tentative, adoring touches gradually grew more frantic and confidant as time wore on, turning to clutching hands at backs, holding on tightly as they climbed together, crescendoed.

A glorious, painful euphoria, and then they'd drifted down like feathers, where one was waiting to catch the other in a warm embrace. So warm. So sweet. So much gentle silence and sparkling eyes and lips brushing against the other's that succeeded where words failed.

And now, there was only horror. Horror that had stilled a hopeful heart, kept him paralyzed. No. _No._

_Creak, creak._

_Creak, creak._

The body beside him would not move, though he feebly attempted to stir it, coax it back to consciousness. At least it still breathed. He heard someone calling out, vaguely wondered who it was. His lungs felt as if they were filling with ice water-try as he might to breathe, there was no _room_ for air-

_Creak, creak._

_Dead. _

_Gone._

**Lost.**

A last, bitter promise frozen forever within a pair of cruel eyes.

_Creak, creak._

_Creak, creak._

* * *

_Flashback: Thirteen Years Ago _

_"I'm sorry." _

_"Artie…"_

_"I'm sorry!" _

_The man just gazed at him soberly, and then shut his filmy eye. "So like ya, kiddo, takin' 'sponsibility fer….just about everything…."_

_But it _**was**_ his fault. Stanley lay back in his bed like the lazy nitwit he was, not _understanding_. Arthur's face burned, like his eyes burned with the hot waves of grief he was fighting so desperately to keep back. _

_He _**knew**_. He knew and Stanley would never, ever know. Just as Alfred could never, ever find out the truth. Would they put him in prison if people found out? He hadn't meant for anyone to get hurt. But they might take him away regardless, and then who would look after Alfred?_

_The broken man let out a dry, rasping sigh. Or it might have been a gasp. Either way, it sounded like a shuddering death rattle. "Kiddo, I ain't mad," he assured softly, one of his crooked fingers playing with a loose blond curl on Matthew's head. "I'm…I'm real proud of ya. I couldn't have been a luckier Dad. It's just…." A wheeze, and Stanley's already garbled voice shook with emotion, a glassy tear spilling out the bruised and swollen eye. "Baby, I don't think I'm gonna be around for that much longer…."_

_Matthew's sniffles picked up to sobs again, and Alfred burst out wailing. Arthur stared at his father, aghast. _

_"Of course you are," the boy snapped, his hands flying around Alfred's ears. "You're going to be just fine." A lie, he knew, a bitter lie that was more an accusation than anything else. "Father's not supposed to be a kid. Al and Matthew are. You have to help me take care of them." _

_"Were ya ever a kid, Artie?" the man croaked, more tears oozing down his bandaged face, the red and dark blue bruises looking like berry stains. "I've been thinkin'…if this were meant to happen, in some screwed up plan….you're a godsend. But your Ma and I were talkin'…just…" A terrible sorrow stole over Mr. Jones' face, and his frame shook with silent, painful sobs. Alfred buried his face in Matthew's neck and the twins clung to each other for dear life. "Just last night, 'fore the concert, that….that you…." _

_"That I what?" Arthur asked sharply, crossing his arms and pouting. Anything to keep him talking and the machine beeping. Anything. _

_The corner of Mr. Jones' bleeding lip turned up ever so slightly. "Kiddo, yer Ma was just worried that maybe you rely on…rely on Al—your brothers a lot. To be...happy. More so than other kids." _

_Arthur tensed as anger seared through his veins. Oh. _Was that so?

_Well, he was still the better guardian, because he _knew_ better. Because he was alive and comforting Alfred when their mother was nothing but a lump underneath a sheet. For a brief, terrible moment, Arthur's spirits soared, elevated with giddiness at the validation, but the sensation quickly crashed when a trembling hand with tubes wrapped around it tentatively touched the boy's head. Arthur squirmed, uncomfortable with the physical token of affection. _

_"I dunno if that's true or not," Stanley said quietly. "I don't think yer like yer namesake at all. Not that I ever met the guy, but I think you just have a great capacity to love and have trouble sharing it with other folks. Maybe there's something in your wiring that doesn't let you. But when ya find the one meant for you—and I know you will, in ten years or in twenty or fifty, remember that the face of love is selfishness." _

_Arthur gave his father a bewildered look. Great. Now their father was speaking nonsense, and Arthur almost longed to rip the many IVs out of him to make him be quiet. His eyes were already stinging and he had to keep scrubbing at them with his fists. If he started crying, the twins would completely lose it. _

_He was their rock, because what he'd always despaired over his parents turned out to be completely true—they couldn't be trusted to do anything right and Arthur had to pick up the pieces so that Alfred could be okay._

_And he WOULD be okay. Despite a mistake. Despite what happened._

_He itched and prickled with resentment. Their father had no business making him cry, making Alfred cry. _

_Mr. Jones let out a soft chuckle. "I'm sure you've already heard love's a flowery happy fest in school. Kiddo, pardon my French, and your Mom…bless her soul, forgive me…but that's a load of bullshit. It's not. Love is a selfish jerk and doesn't always like to share itself. But what makes it so freaking amazing is that at its core, there's something that totally contradicts itself, turning it against its very nature." _

_Arthur scowled at his father. Idiot. Blathering _idiot_. "Are you saying the center of love is hate?"_

_"Course not. Love and hate oftentimes go hand in hand, kiddo. Aw, come on now," Stanley coaxed when Arthur pulled the twins back as if the patient were a babbling maniac. "I realize…this is a lot to lay on a kid, but the opposite of love ain't hate. It's _indifference_. Even with hate yer lettin' someone into your heart, clearin' a space for 'em. But indifference isn't what scares the hell outta true love, the love that makes you persevere even when love's a rotting bag of monkeys. It's _sacrifice_. If you find a love that just wants to keep giving, Artie, I…I think you found something good. But," he added wearily. "But sometimes that love means giving something very precious up, and you have to leggo, or your love won't be the best it can be."_

_"Daddy's gone nuts," Alfred whimpered, a fresh stream of tears rolling down his cheeks. Arthur scooped him up and held him fast while their father struggled to breathe, coughing. The way he was clutching at his chest with his good hand certainly suggested the motion was hurting him, and little pink flecks of spittle were flying all over the place from his gasping, ruined mouth, flesh cracked and scabbed over in dark maroons. Shaking madly, Arthur pulled out his handkerchief and started wiping at Alfred's face, though a tear came racing down for each one he wiped away. _

_Stanley Jones sighed. "Sorry…I don't….understand me even when I'm not banged up," he joked feebly, a withering shadow of his old charm. "Artie, I'm so, so sorry, but you have to do me a solid. I'm gonna do my damnedest to hang on, but understand that I'm not feelin' so good about this."_

_"Shut up," Arthur Kirkland Jones returned. He'd never, ever told one of his parents to shut up before, but better an enraged Stanley leap out of bed and give him a well-deserved spanking then…_this.

_He smiled, eye twitching, smile and jaw tight, trembling so badly that he shook Alfred too. "Mother may be gone, but you have to help me. Someone has to look after Matthew. I'll look after Alfred from now on." _

_"Artie…." _

Go away. Stop. Stop. Stop. _The creature was stirring, clawing its way free from the shell, and if Stanley kept egging it on….it would tear itself free from the flesh, screeching its victory over the vessel-_

_"Artie, you're hurting me!" _

_"I'll look after him. I'll look after him. He's my baby, too," Arthur insisted, staggering back, dragging Alfred with him. The distressed boy started struggling like a trapped cat, but Arthur clung on, even when Alfred kicked him. "So don't be mad about what I did. I'm sorry. I'll look after the baby."_

_"I'm not a baby! I'm—" Alfred started bawling away, and Stanley tried pleading. "Please, son, please, do this for me, it's the last thing I'll ever ask for, look after them both, and let him—" _

_With a shriek of anguish, Arthur tore out of the room, Alfred's hand seized in his own. Alfred was screaming by now, but a team of orderlies were running to their father's room, forcing out a terrified-looking Matthew._

_A shuddering moan, like that of a ghost's. "Arthur….please...just let him go...look after them both, please...what happened wasn't your fault-"_

Become a ghost,_ Arthur willed, squeezing his eyes shut as Matthew threw himself into his arms and the three brothers huddled together. _And disappear forever.

_Alfred looked up at him, bright blue eyes chilled over with a distraught terror that reminded Arthur so painfully of their father's once-handsome face, ruined by scars and sorrow. He'd been thrust into a strange and unbearably unfair new world overnight, and all he could do was watch helplessly on the sidelines as it all flew by. _

_He was waiting for Arthur to fix things, for his big brother to make things right, to explain things so that the world wasn't just mean, wasn't just mad._

_The organ beneath Arthur's ribs swelled with so much love he was winded. He pressed his lips against Alfred's head and started to cry with his brothers when the beeping mantra in the hospital room fell stark. _

_It was a painful, agonizing sort of relief, as if a malicious tumor had been ripped away from him, only leaving him with a wound he could not staunch. The secret was safe forever, but the_ price...

_Hot tears gushed down his face, and Arthur cried and cried, reminding himself over and over again that it was okay, reminding his brothers that it was okay even though his voice had been torn to pieces by the sobs flooding his throat, one after another._

Disappear forever. It wasn't my fault. What happened.

_From sadness and unbearable love and a dark, terrible truth, he cradled Alfred and wept._

And in the meantime, I'll hold onto you.

~*oOo*~

* * *

_Three Hundred, Thirty-Six Hours Before Present Time_

_Matthew just gave him a troubled look. "You—you actually think Arthur would do this? Come on, Ivan, I know you don't like him, and I can't say I do either, but—" _

_"I do not think," Ivan said simply. "I **know**. This is his handiwork. He knows how afraid Alfred is of snakes-he was **there** when Alfred was bitten all those years ago! He is responsible for this." _

_"Lots of people are afraid of snakes, and lots of people will use them for intimation!" Alfred's twin protested. "Ivan, Arthur may be a lot of things, but even if he hates you, he's never going to lay a finger on Alfred. Hell, when we used to wrestle as kids, he'd just let Alfred go all over him. Oh, crap, that sounds sick," he groaned, his hands flying to his aching temples, shaking his head abruptly when Ivan's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing under his bangs. "I didn't mean it like_ _that. The point is, Arthur wouldn't hurt Alfred like this. You really think he's going to put a bleeding mouse head and a snake inside the locker of the person he cares about more than anything else in the world?"_

_"Da. If it serves his purpose. He will come back here. And I will be waiting." _

_"And what then?" Matthew asked despairingly. "If by some stretch Arthur was deranged enough to do this kind of shit, think the state's gonna let him hold onto Alfred anymore? Not a chance. Best case scenario, Alfred winds back up in the home, or in some foster care place out of state."_

_"So I should let him go unpunished?" _

_"Of course not! No…wait…you know that's not what I mean!" Matthew cried out exasperatedly. "There's no point in even talking about this, because I'm certain Arthur isn't the culprit! The guy may be a jerk, but he WAS my brother once upon a time! He would never, ever attack Alfred like this! He wouldn't stand for it." _

_"Maybe he doesn't have to," Ivan returned. "Maybe his only target is me. And someone else is after Alfred."_

_Matthew's angry look clouded over, and now the boy just looked troubled. "I….it doesn't have to be Arthur after you for that theory to work, but if there are multiple people in this case, who'd want to scare Alfred so badly?" _

_Ivan didn't want to think about that._

* * *

_Seven Years Ago_

_"Get away from me!" Ivan cried, his hands in the air as he cowered in a corner. "Nyet! KATYUSHA! Katyusha, Mama, Natalya is playing with knives again!" _

_The tiny little girl slowly advanced on her sibling, trademark frown replaced with a disarming smile. In her hand she clutched a large knife, raising it high in the air. "Big brother, you said you would marry me today."_

_"I only said that because you stole my Mochi! And now I want to play outside, so leave me alone!" _

_Hurt flooded Natalya's ink-black eyes. "Marry me. You said you would. You promised." _

_The boy let out a grunt of disgust. "Didn't you hear Katyusha? I can't really marry you, even if I wanted to! Besides, it's just a stupid game. Just-Natalya, put that down! PUT THAT DOWN!" _

_Ivan's voice had risen to a scream. Katyusha seized her horrified big brother by the collar of his shirt and shook him, producing a pair of cupcake rings from her pocket. "Marry me! I want you to marry me now, or I will cut you!" _

_Without much discussion, Ivan and Natalya were made one soul by the power invested by a bewildered Katyusha, a Mochi as a witness, and a hidden knife poking a sweating Ivan's back._

* * *

~*oOo*~

_Present Time_

Natalya's hands shook as she pulled out the very real and tangible object from the normally locked cupboard, turning over the deadly weapon before pressing it to her chest. It was strange, holding the cold metal and feeling its weight—she had known for years that her mother always kept a loaded gun in the house, just in case—but never before had she bothered to pick the lock and hold it for herself. It seemed unnatural, unreal, holding something you were always told existed but weren't quite convinced did. Now she knew.

Blood pounding in her ears, face very flushed, hands very cold, Natalya silently slid the drawer closed and relocked it, slowly turning the brass key and pulling it out again. She'd slide the key back into her mother's apron on the hook and the woman would never have to know.

She crept out of the room, almost certain that her mother would be breathing behind the door, ready to grab her and demand to know what she was doing. And what then? Natalya closed her eyes and imagined pulling the trigger, Mama tumbling to the ground the way Papa had when she killed him.

Natalya did not want it. She did. She didn't care.

Mama was not waiting. Nor was Ivan. She could hear the radio going on in the kitchen. Legs wobbling, Natalya unsteadily reached for the railing of the nearby staircase and slowly sank to sit on the first step, turning over the gun in her hands.

She couldn't do this. She could. A test of her devotion to Ivan. She could get away with it, silencing Alfred F. Jones' voice forever and running, running like the wind….

Natalya cradled the gun to her face and closed her eyes, mentally counting back from ten in Russian. No. She'd never get away with it and she knew it. But that shouldn't have to matter, because she loved Ivan so. Wanted him to be happy with _her_, wanted him to want _her_, to bring _her_ flowers and adore _her_.

The little Russian knew that she was likely better with a knife than a gun-certainly she was more experienced with the former-but cornering the pigfuck alone to stab him would be too difficult. Ivan followed Alfred to work and home these days, much to her consternation. And Arthur was haunting Alfred's shadow worse than ever now, always hovering over as a scowling, protective ghost, so simply pulling the clot in a dark alleyway would not do.

Natalya ran a gloved fingertip over the gun and felt a shiver down her spine.

And chances were, Ivan would recognize her handiwork. A gun was safe, because any fool could pull a trigger, and she could make her point from a distance, flee into a panicking crowd while Alfred lay a bleeding corpse or incapacitated with fright. She would settle for either, so long as the result took him away from her heart.

But what if she were caught? They had to have ways of finding out which direction a gun was fired in. They could trace her, even if she ran like lightning and disappeared into the shadows. Even if she could make it home without suspicion, the question would eventually come up: _Why?_

Why in the world would anyone want to shoot Alfred F. Jones?

Carefully placing the revolver on her lap, Natalya rocked back and forth in her seat, hugging herself. The police would obviously suspect the people who'd been targeting both her brother and Jones for the past few weeks…she'd bribed, extorted, forced some students at the school to help her, and they might talk if the joke suddenly turned not so funny anymore. That was a lot of bodies to take care of. One person could easily become ten.

And eventually, they'd know and come after her. Even if she got out of town, out of the state by some miracle, they would find her. Shut up in some lunatic shack, best case scenario. Natalya shivered. And Ivan would never, ever look at her the same way again. Maybe he'd be so consumed by devotion to her that he'd be willing to wait until she got out, his sweet voice in a grateful, happy accent as his arms reached out for her.

Or maybe she would be sent to prison. For a life sentence. And Ivan never wanted to look at her again, resented her for protecting him from the fat whore. Natalya's face screwed up, her knuckles flying to her temples, repressing a whimper.

No. Ivan had to love her, had to love her, had to love her. There couldn't be anyone else. There wasn't anyone else in the world but him. She'd do anything for him. She'd have his children if he asked. Certainly she was not above killing someone for her beloved. And it WOULD be satisfying, watching Alfred fall to the ground, watching Arthur race over and cry his anguish as he clutched a lifeless, bloody doll to his breast, pleading for it to stir. Alfred and his hideous, distorted fag-face spattered with red. Arthur and his horrible plans that never worked. He and his rumors that had wrecked her brother's reputation but still left Alfred and Ivan hand in hand together.

Disgusting. Unforgivable. She would free her brother of this sin.

But what of Arthur Kirkland? Mad with grief he would be, he'd immediately rat her out as the culprit unless she shot him too, and he would be a much trickier target to take down. Even if she played dumb and protested her innocence, Arthur wouldn't rest until he killed her himself. Even if she and her family were to go into witness protection, he would follow like a man possessed until he struck her dead.

That was the one thing she could almost, sort of, not really respect about Arthur: Manipulative and scheming bastard he was, content to sew seeds of conflict and simply watch the destruction unfold like a blossoming red flower, most of the time he did his own dirty work.

She could handle him. Natalya pressed her forehead against her knees and grit her teeth, trying to ignore the ugly, swollen truth inside:

She couldn't handle him because he was too much like her. Arthur could not love, at least not with a passion like Natalya, but he was still _dangerous_. He'd proved that when he'd disarmed her with nothing more than his bare hands, and Natalya had been armed with a butcher knife.

But she would be ready. And if for her Vanya, she could take both brothers down.

The little Russian looked down at the .45, which was slowly earning heat from her body. She clutched it to her chest.

One warning shot. And a message. One so perfectly clear that even the pighead could understand. And if he survived, than lesson well-learned. If not, well, the Jones' family plot would be welcoming two more members to sleep deep beneath the ground forever.

With a sigh, Natalya headed back upstairs to her room. She needed some time to prepare.

* * *

~*oOo*~

"I can't believe this is actually happening." Alfred glanced up from his list, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Iv, as third dates go, this is pretty awesome."

"Definitely," Ivan agreed cheerfully, giving Alfred's hair an affectionate ruffle. "This was unexpected. Perhaps your brother has been replaced by aliens, like ones we saw in awful movie."

"That wasn't bad, it was really scary!"

"Alfred, we saw a crew member accidentally step on the set in film," Ivan reminded him as he picked up a can, turning it around to read the list of ingredients. "He was carrying cell phone in a story taking place during 1950s. _And_ you could see rope holding phoney spaceship in air."

The blond scoffed good-naturedly. "Yeah, but the storyline totally made it work."

"The alien's name was Tony. _Tony_, Alfred. He has Italian name despite being from Mars."

"You're no fun."

"I concur," Arthur remarked snidely, stepping out of an aisle and sidling next to Alfred, olive green eyes flicking over to Ivan with obvious distaste, as if Alfred's boyfriend were gum found at the bottom of his shoe. Deciding to return the gesture, Ivan scratched his nose, middle finger conveniently sticking out in Arthur's direction. The man's eyes bulged and he hissed like a cat, which Ivan supposed was rather ironic, giving their environment.

The Russian chuckled as if he'd just heard a particularly good joke, his hand slowly wandering over to one of his pockets. "Hello, Arthur! I suppose I will have to warn staff that nasty doggy escaped from the kennel wing. Have you received your rabies shot yet? Because, if not, I would be happy to—"

Oh, but he did enjoy watching Arthur turn puce. He looked like a bruised radish. "You realize your opinion doesn't matter, Russki. You get to come with us but nobody gives a sagging ass what you—"

"Artie, be nice," Alfred snapped, picking up a nearby book and flipping through it, peering at the pictures. "We let you tag along on our date and aren't running away, so just chew out a salesclerk if you need someone to yell at. Or wait till you get home and you wind up regretting this and yell at me then."

Arthur huffed, but deflated somewhat. "You ran away last time."

Alfred buried his face in his book and laughed sheepishly, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Well, you might call leaving you at the bathrooms while Ivan and I run off for the arcade _ditching_, but I like to think of it as hide and go seek eXtreme."

"Not as if it hasn't happened before," Ivan sang, and Alfred started cracking up, only to immediately stifle and look almost comically sober once he glimpsed his brother's face. "Aw, c'mon, bro." He grabbed a scowling Arthur's shoulders, shook them affectionately before giving Arthur a rare peck on the head. Ivan forced himself to keep smiling, though a salesclerk who had been about to approach the trio anxiously inched away. "Do you have any idea how happy I am that you're okay with this? I've wanted one of these furballs for freaking years!"

Arthur looked slightly appeased, especially when Alfred draped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a one-armed hug. His hands planted over Alfred's, keeping them at his waist. "I mean, I'm just glad that our place allows pets. Remember that goldfish I got when I was ten?"

The man sniffed, a dry, reluctant smile appearing. "I remember. You tried to give it a bath."

"Rest in peace, Mr. Bubbles," Alfred said with mock solemnity before wandering back to the shelves with his book, Arthur trailing after him like a magnet or a mother bear, Ivan thought. "I don't think we oughta get a long-haired kitty like Ivan's, else that's a lotta brushing we have to do and we're not around that much." Alfred wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, thoughtfully tapping the tiled floor. "Well, Yuka IS the most adorable thing ever and would make an excellent mop, so I guess getting one wouldn't be ALL bad…"

"Says the one who'll be vacuuming the hair up," Arthur replied, and Alfred laughed, a little embarrassed. "Right, right…seriously though, thanks, Artie."

Arthur had told Alfred just yesterday evening that he thought their home could use a cat, and after nearly breaking Arthur's ribs, Alfred had immediately run to his cell to tell Ivan, asked him to join them. His older brother hadn't looked very happy about that at all, but it wasn't as if Arthur and Alfred didn't get to spend a decent amount of time together, even if Artie had class and Alfred had work and school. Hell, they still slept in the same bed together, even after Arthur's…accident. It had gotten too lonely sleeping on the couch.

Alfred wondered what he was going to do when he left for college. Arthur made no secret of the fact that he wanted his brother to attend the same local college that he did, so that he could continue to live at home. But Alfred was eying the same school Ivan was considering in Kansas. He hadn't told his elder brother yet-knowing Artie, it'd only end up in a bad argument, as well as likely change his mind on their getting a pet. It was best not to think about it too much.

He stepped back, oofing in surprise when his back hit something warm. He chuckled when a pair of long, lanky arms wrapped around his torso and looked back at the light violet eyes smiling down at him. "Well, kind sir, do you care to explain?"

"Mmph," Ivan inhaled, his nose playfully nudging Alfred's hair. "You smell nice. Might I do you the trouble of whisking you away, little one? I have candy at home."

Sullen, Arthur stomped on his foot, but Ivan didn't budge. "Do you have to sound like such a sodding creeper? Let go of him."

Alfred groaned, pinking. "Damn, Artie, you're like the chaperones at the school dances. What, am I supposed to stay arms length apart at all times?"

"I'd prefer six feet."

"That's gonna make handholding kind of hard," Alfred sighed, before turning puppy eyes to his brother. "Artie, you freak out when I'm trying to so much as cuddle Ivan when people are practically eating face all around us. Is it so bad I wanna hug my boyfriend? You keep this up and I'm thinkin' you're gonna have me wearing a chastity belt."

"Well, that _is_ an ide—"

"Don't worry, **Голубка," **Ivan breathed in his ear. "I will be there to take it off."

"Acck, damn it, you louse, keep your dirty paws off him!"

* * *

Two hours later at the apartment with cat and kitty gear in hand, Alfred was clutching a large, bright-eyed white feline in his arms, all but clapping his hands with glee when it started purring, pawing at his chest and meowing for attention. Ivan just watched him, content to simply watch Alfred absorbed in his rapture.

"Wish Mattie weren't visiting Francis, he woulda loved this guy," Alfred murmured, burying his face in the fuzzy brown ring of fur at its neck, snuggling it. "Hey buddy? How d'you feel about sharin' a bed with Artie and I?"

"He has a cat bed," Arthur remarked, not so subtly sinking down beside Alfred, looking pleased and proud of himself. Ivan resisted the all too tempting urge to break his facee. "I think it's cozy enough as it is with just the two of us." Oh yeah. That not so innocent snub was meant for the Russian, and Ivan knew it. He kept his face impartial, turned to his face to the cat now playing with Alfred's cowlick. Though he still pulled his boyfriend onto his lap.

"Come on, cats never use cat beds, that's just nuts. Hell, Yuka doesn't even touch his scratching post. He's just fine using the couch for all his kitty clawing needs."

"Da. And Mama will make him into soup one day for it, I am certain."

"Hands off," Arthur said loudly, trying to tug Alfred off again. Eyes flashing, Ivan's hands jumped to Alfred's hips and clung on, Alfred being too absorbed to take much notice. "Awww, isn't he cute? We should name him Clark. Or Wayne. Then he can run around and fight kitty crime…who stole the catnip, buddy? Who stole the world's biggest ball of yarn?"

Arthur let out a tense bark of laughter. "Hilarious!" He tutted, eyes liquid green fire on his face. Ivan smiled back at him. He supposed it wasn't in very good taste to hurl a rubber mousey down Arthur's throat or stuffing it to accompany the stick up his ass. "Why don't you get off Braginski's lap and we can discuss this in greater detail."

"Nah, Wayne and I are comfortable, thanks," Alfred said airily, completely missing how Ivan shrugged innocently at an irate Arthur and mouthed '_He's comfortable_.' "Actually, I don't wanna go with Wayne, because Jones is Batman's butler and I don't wanna have to be yer servant, adorable little cutiepie hero face that you are. Are you a hero? Yes you are, catching all the bad mice out to eat the cheese! Actually, uh, aren't cats usually the villains in old movies?" he asked, scratching his head in an afterthought. "Well, you're _my_ hero anyway. Hey! What about Hero? I think that's a pretty sweet name."

"I thought _I_ was your hero, **Солнышко," **Ivan said playfully, leaning forward to kiss Alfred on the cheek, only to have Arthur sharply jerk his startled brother out of the way and ending up with a mouthful of Hero's brown fur. Both Alfred and Arthur burst out laughing, Arthur positively quivering with mirth.

"Awww, Iv, a guy can have more than one hero, right? That's why we have the League of Justice and stuff. Hey Hero, you'd even cuter with a little bandana around your neck. Or a cape! Dude, you'd look freaking _awesome_ in a cape! Heck, I'll grab you one right now!" Alfred leapt to his feet and ran off with the content kitty. Ivan wished he'd thought to hold on again.

Silence. Arthur's horrible, fixed smile melted off his face, while Ivan's positively bloomed.

"Why now?" the Russian asked his lover's sibling, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Alfredka has been asking for pet for years. What made you pull out one of the dozens of sticks up your ass _now_?"

"He wanted a cat," Arthur muttered dourly, refusing to look at Ivan. "I thought he could take care of one. Stop me if you need me to draw a diagram for you."

Ivan just considered him with his cold, cold eyes, horrible, empty smile still on his face.

"You are guilty." It was a statement, not a question. "That, or afraid he'll leave you come two years when my Alfred wants to go to school. But I am thinking it is both, jealous, domineering, possessive maniac you are."

Arthur started, and then turned to look at him with so much hatred in his eyes Ivan wondered how the man ever kept it down to a mild loathing whenever Alfred happened to be nearby.

"I **am** guilty," Arthur confessed, standing up and slapping his slacks clean, as if he feared contamination by sitting too close to the boy next to him. "Guilty of letting a great, dirty bastard like you near my brother like I did. I don't know where I went wrong, but I _swear_, you fucking brute," he snarled, crossing the room to glower down at Ivan, who kept his gaze, "If you break my brother's heart again, _I'll break your_-"

Breathless, Alfred popped back into the room, positively beaming. In his arms was a pleased-looking Hero, now sporting a red bandanna underneath the brown ring of fur at his neck. "Hey guys, whaddaya think? Isn't he a heroic-lookin' Hero? Totally adorable, right?"

A second later, the normally clueless boy shivered, the bright spark in his eyes waning to confusion. His boyfriend and his brother very slowly turned to him with large smiles that seemed too big for their faces.

"Absolutely." Arthur choked out, as if he were in great pain.

"Almost as adorable as you, **Солнышко**." Ivan concluded stiffly, imagining hurling Arthur off the nearby balcony five or so stories to his death.

His smile widened even further.

~*oOo*~

As Hero happily scurried around the apartment and explored his new home, the three boys settled on the sofa and turned on a scary movie that Alfred had rented. Arthur was staring incredulously at the film, whilst Ivan leaned back against the cushions, looking bored. Alfred sat between them, clutching a pillow to his front as the flesh-eating monster on the screen took the time to remind the audience that he was, in fact, a flesh-eating monster before a shaking woman opened a door, and began to descend a dark and dank flight of steps into the cellar.

"No, no, no…." Alfred murmured, leaning forward, blue eyes wide and scared under his glasses. "Don't go in there, there's a freaking flesh-eating monster that'll totally eat your flesh hiding under the stairs! Dude, why'd you have to buy a house the real estate lady told you was haunted?! Hell, she even used the words _'flesh-eating monster hiding under the stairs'_ in the contract!"

"Love, it's not as if the cast can really _hear_ you," Arthur said mildly, raising an eyebrow as the woman's screams filled the apartment. "You might be wasting your voice."

"Talk all you like, Alfred," Ivan said gently. "_I_ for one love to hear your voice."

Arthur's glance, which suggested that he'd very much like to run Ivan over with a cement mixer, was met with a friendly grin. Alfred snorted but blushed.

"Dude, that's corny as all hell, but thanks. Y'know, it's hard to get scared out of my mind if you keep makin' me blush like that. Counterproductive."

"Indeed," Arthur muttered as the flesh-eating monster began to eat flesh. "Do you think it's possible for you to shut up?"

Ivan made to speak, but Alfred abruptly cut him off with a frantic shushing as he stared intently at the screen. Arthur smirked smugly at Ivan, who returned the smile with a frightening dynamism. "Oh, God, it's gonna eat her sister-in-law….no, don't go into that house! It's evil! Why won't any of these stupid people listen to me?! No, the music's all scary now, so you just know something bad's about to happen!"

Alfred yelped, burying his face in the pillow he held. "Oh, God, she really went in there! And now it's totally eating her flesh!"

"Don't worry, Alfred," Arthur soothed, patting him on the back. "We can turn this awful movie off and watch something else. Neither of us—well, **I** certainly won't think any less of you for not finishing it."

"I know you can finish it, Alfred," Ivan murmured gently, taking his hand. "It is as I said many years ago: You are one of bravest people I know."

Alfred looked up from his pillow, grinning just a bit. "Well, yeah, I won't deny that," he preened, oblivious to the death-aura Arthur was radiating in Ivan's direction as the Russian pulled Alfred against him. Arthur tried to pull Alfred back towards himself, but considering Ivan gave as much as a mountain, he had to settle for holding Alfred's hand.

~*oOo*~

"Dude, I was totally not scared of that lame-ass movie at _all_," Alfred boasted two hours later, nibbling his cone and exhaling in the cool, drizzly air outside the ice cream parlor. Arthur snorted derisively, tentatively licking his own cone and making a face. He'd never really liked ice cream.

Ivan flanked Alfred's other side, holding his own cone, arm entwined with Alfred's. Arthur's eyes narrowed at the sight, and he offered some of his ice cream towards his brother. "Care to give a taste? I don't care for mine much."

The blue-eyed boy beamed, leaning forward to sample Arthur's dessert, humming appreciatively. "Don't mind if I do…don't understand why you never liked sweets, Artie. But I never minded as a kid 'cause it meant more for me. But now, I feel so bad for you, I feel like playin' the world's smallest violin."

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling gently just the same. "Come now, I ate that blue cake you made for my birthday last year. Even _after_ you decided to make it a Baked Alaska and set it on fire."

Blinking, the boy laughed abashedly. "Oh yeah! I remember that….well, if that doesn't say 'I love you,' I don't know what does."

"How about your boyfriend saying—" Ivan began, but Arthur cut him off again.

"Alfred, you have ice cream on your nose," he said patiently, reaching forward with a paper napkin and opting instead to just lick it off. Ivan's cone fell to the ground.

Looking as stunned as if he'd been whipped across the face without any warning, Alfred staggered back a step, his ears looking ready to puff out steam. He let out an awkward giggle as Ivan immediately wrapped his arms around Alfred's front, his blue eyes wandering around as if looking for someone for help. "I…whoa, Artie, uh, thought you didn't like sweet stuff?"

Arthur shrugged noncommittally. "Not usually. But I do make an exception for you."

Ivan smiled, at the end of his rope at last. When he kissed Alfred goodnight, he was going to do all but strip him in front of Arthur. And then, when Alfred went to bed, Ivan would perhaps ask to have a little chat with Alfred's older brother. Hopefully, the walls in Alfred's apartment complex were scream-proof.

He was tired of this. Beyond sick and tired of watching Arthur not so innocently put his hands all over his unsuspecting brother's body, his childish and petty need to hold Alfred like a stuffed animal whenever Ivan let go (or rather, when Alfred wandered away). The motion was simply_ creepy_, and painfully familiar.

Alfred shook his head from underneath Ivan's chin, licking his butterscotch ice cream. "Holy cow. Between you two, my entire life oughta be rated R, for Corn. Anyhow, anything else you guys wanna do while we're out?"

"He has a curfew," Arthur reminded Ivan coolly.

Alfred swore. "Bro, you're freaking standing _right next to us_, for God's sake!" he protested. "And it's not like Iv and I are gonna go running into the streets, ripping off our clothes and—"

"There is always the bookstore bathroom for that," Ivan mused thoughtfully, and Alfred threw his head back and burst out laughing while Arthur started to fuss, hissing death threats on Ivan's life as the Russian began to pull Alfred out into the drizzly night, Arthur tagging behind like an unhappy dog, biting at Ivan's ankles.

And from out of nowhere, a gun promptly fired at Alfred F Jones' head, dozens of golden hairs tumbling to the ground before Alfred crumpled with them, a fallen sunflower with petals scattered everywhere.

* * *

_Twelve Hours Ago_

_"Is it true? What my classmates at school are saying?" _

_"I don't know, Natalya," Ivan replied stiffly as he glanced out the window. Rainy. Well, at least Matthew would be driving them to school, although he didn't at all mind the idea of walking to Alfred's apartment in the rain with an umbrella, even if he'd have to carry it around school all day. The memory of his first "official" kiss with Alfred seeped into him, making a large, foolish and lopsided grin appear on the Russian's face as he pulled on his boots. _

_But Natalya's voice swept back into his warm, watercolored thoughts like a cold wind, taking him back to reality: "I saw you! **I saw you** last weekend kissing him! **You were kissing him**!" By now her voice had risen to a screech; Ivan glanced anxiously at the door. Had their mother heard? _

_Ivan turned to give his sister a cool look. "Da. So don't ask questions you already know the answer to." _

_Natalya's cold eyes narrowed into dark slits. "You know that is a sin. God will be angry and you will go to hell for it." _

_"And you know," Ivan returned calmly, "That you haven't been to church for years and curse like a sailor when Mama is not around. Is nice for you to worry about my soul, but I am damned if I do, damned if I don't, so I'd much rather do and trust that God has better things to worry about, like world hunger." _

_Natalya dragged her hands through her hair as Ivan started packing his books into his bag, which was starting to show a lot of wear and tear from its owner carrying around all of his books on his person at school all the time. _

_"Big brother! Everyone is saying you are a pervert at my school! They are saying you and Alfred and all the male teachers go out during lunch, get together in men's bathroom, and—" _

_"Oh! I remember someone saying that," Ivan said pleasantly as he zipped up his jacket. "I believe his jaw was wired shut. That will teach him to keep it flapping." _

_Natalya swore._

_"I will tell Mama!" she warned, trembling with fury, her small fists clenched. "If you do not dump him immediately! He is wrong for you, it is disgusting, and if you want to break Mama's heart—"_

_Her brother simply looked at her. Natalya fell dumb, though she kept her eyes obstinately locked on her love's handsome, childish face, which was composed in a strangled smile she'd only seen two or three times in her life. _

_And on each occasion, there had been blood. _

_"So tell her," Ivan said simply. "Run like little girl and tell her. But you will be one breaking her heart if you do, not me," he added, his voice becoming so icy even stubborn Natalya shook just a little. "And I will be gone."_

_He went for the door, but Natalya threw her arms around his waist. "I do not really mean I would tell her! Big brother, I don't want you to go away!"_

_"You should say what you mean, then." _

_"Get rid of him!" Natalya cried out passionately as Ivan stuck a hand out, catching a cool drop of water in his gloved palm. "Get rid of that ugly little **Blyadischa!"** _

_Very slowly, Ivan turned to give her that same, hollow smile from before, looking incredibly dangerous. Natalya just stared up at it in incomprehension, because that smile was not meant for her, it was meant for people like Arthur and Alfred and other idiots who got in her brother's way, not for the girl who worshiped the ground he walked on and would do **anything** to make him happy—_

_Natalya recoiled when Ivan seized her by the shoulders, still smiling horribly. "What did you say, sister? Why would you call the boy I love a whore?"_

_His grip tightened, and the alarmed little girl let out a whimper as he loomed over her, dragging her close enough to kiss her, his violet eyes boring into her large ones. "You know, I am thinking you might say what you like about me," he murmured. "Whatever you like. Is nothing I don't hear every day. But," he added sweetly, his fingers tightening into the thin shoulders, and Natalya's feet dangled in the air, kicking and twisting, "You will not say a word about Alfred. I won't hit you, Natalya, but I can promise to make your life very, very rotten indeed if you don't _**leave him alone."**

_Had it been anyone else, Natalya would have sneered at them, spat in their faces. But all the girl could do was stare pathetically into Ivan's harsh face, cold as if outlined in marble, unapologetic. _

_Natalya struggled to find her voice, and when she did, it was pinched, shrill. "I just said—was only…big brother, he is ugly and stupid and full of himself and obnoxious—" _

_Ivan's eyes were flashing a wild warning to her, but Natalya would not see it. "I hate him! And you are being so selfish, big brother, by seeing him! Everyone is talking at school about you now, and now everyone treats me differently, and you are forgetting that you have me—" _

_Ivan all but threw his little sister at the wall and the stunned Russian collided against it with a loud THUD before tumbling to her knees. Without another glance backward, he stormed out of the house with his pink umbrella, and Natalya shakily got to her feet, tottering after him. _

"Ya lyublu tebya!"_ she shrieked as Ivan headed down the drive, refusing to dignify her confession with a response. "I'm doing this for you, you'll regret it if you don't at least consider—_ya lyublu tebya, Vanya!_ **YA LYUBLU TEBYA**!" _

_She raced after him, but tripped over the sidewalk and stumbled, ripping her stockings and scraping her knee in the process. By now, Ivan was disappearing into the early morning mist, and Natalya was trying in vain to suppress the hopeless sobs shuddering through her body, stockinged feet soaked through. Hot tears flooded down her face as she watched Ivan continue to walk away, waiting, waiting like a princess in a fairy tale for him to run back, a sweet, apologetic smile on his face as he scooped her up and held her close—_

Ya lyublu tebya. Ya lyublu tebya.

_When would it be enough? _

_She pressed her hands to her face and started to moan, scratching at her face, hugging herself because there was no Ivan to hold her. _

_Yet. He didn't understand. He hadn't let her finish. She urged him to break up with that horrid, loudmouthed little bitch for his own sake. People were already saying things in the local middle school, sending Natalya sympathetic glances as she walked by, halting conversation—_

_Whatever they would say about her and Ivan when her big brother finally recognized that Natalya was meant to be his wouldn't matter. But she wouldn't have her brother's reputation ruined for such an **ugly, stupid, worthless bitch** like Alfred F. Jones._

_It had to be done. Tonight. She'd read her big brother's diary, knew that he and Alfred were planning on going out tonight. More of that ugly whore's lips against her sweet's, how she wanted to cut them off, cut Alfred to pieces! Ugly, ugly pieces!_

_Natalya hollered out in anguish and bloody, raw wrath. How dare he. _

**_How dare he_**_. _

_Fucking cow! _

_She would kill him, or she would scare him so badly that he never looked her love in the eyes again. Rippling, snarling jealousy ensnared her raging heart like a constrictor, and all fear flew out like frantic birds fleeing through a window, a glassy resolve settling itself over her eyes, crystal clear:_

_This was the last straw. _

_Alfred F. Jones had to be taught a lesson. Ivan was meant for her. And now Alfred would have to die. _

~*oOo*~

_Present Time _

Another earsplitting BANG broke out, this time smashing through the parlor window. Hysterical screams broke out from passerby as people began to run, pushing over one another, diving for cover in droves. Arthur dropped to his knees and immediately rolled his body over Alfred's, shielding him as another bullet struck the sidewalk just inches from Arthur's arm. Ivan's head flew up in the direction where the bullets had soared from, and he thought he detected a glimmer of movement from the roof across the street, shrouded in darkness though it was—

BANG!

Without thinking, Ivan threw himself over the two brothers, and the gunshots abruptly ceased. After a few split seconds of feeling Arthur's heart pounding beneath him, something gleaming under the streetlamp caught the Russian's attention, and he looked down.

And all his blood abruptly turned to ice, his mind not registering the shrill sound of a siren wailing somewhere nearby. Blood. Blood on the pavement, trickling from underneath Ivan, underneath _Arthur_—

"Get off," Arthur said waspishly, pushing at Ivan's chest, "You're crushing him! B-baby?" he asked breathlessly, his voice cracking as Ivan very cautiously climbed off, still hovering over the two in case the firing started back up again. Ivan was dumb with horror as Arthur wildly shook the body beneath him, wheezing, his dilated and distressed eyes completely mad.

_No, no. No. **No. No. No.** Wake up. Wake up, little one. _

_Move. You're alive. Wake. _

He grabbed Alfred's shoulder and tentatively shook, like a young boy testing to see whether a parent was sleeping or not, but soon the touch grew stronger, more insistent, like that of a frantic father trying to coax a motionless child back into stirring, _waking_-

"Baby?" Arthur choked out.

_You're fine. _

_If not, there is nothing**.**_

"Baby, **_say something_!"** Arthur pleaded tearfully, and either Ivan turned him over or they both did, but suddenly Ivan was looking at Alfred's face under the lamplight, positively covered in shining, ruby-red blood, eyes closed, glasses cracked.

And then, the exquisite tanzanite eyes fluttered open, dazed, senseless, but beautifully _wide and alive_ and Alfred was in Ivan's arms a split second later, as Arthur anxiously turned his little brother's stricken face towards him, surveying the damage, his flesh deathly white, eyes extremely bloodshot.

"A-Alfred?" An abrupt, inane giggle, and Arthur tried to wrench Alfred out of Ivan's grip to no avail. He cupped his face, pressed his forehead up against Alfred's, who simply stared at him.

The shell-shocked young man said nothing for a second, hot red blood oozing down his face, over his mouth as Ivan abruptly stood up, taking Alfred with him. And then, a small, tremulous smile appeared, a weak pass for Alfred's usual grin.

"Figures, doesn't it?" he said softly, touching his front, which was now splattered with ice cream and muddy red. "Someone shoos me and da sidewalk id da thing that hurts me. And to tob it off, I drobbed my ide cream and my node id all stuffed ub."

Incredulous, Arthur's eyes wandered to the ground, where that one stubborn strand still lay on the cement.

And then he understood with a nearly paralyzing burst of relief: The gunman literally shot the hair clean off Alfred's head, but had missed the flesh entirely, if only by inches. When Alfred hit the ground, he'd collided face first with the sidewalk and wound up with a bleeding nose.

_But gloriously, marvelously, divinely alive._

Arthur's shocked face distorted with a savage joy and a grotesque horror as Ivan quickly carried Alfred back inside the shop, and he let out a strange, choking sound that seemed as if it were torn between laughter and sobbing. Arthur hurried after Ivan, who was still crushing Alfred to his front for dear life, face buried in Alfred's shoulder so that no one could see him cry.

* * *

~*oOo*~

"And this has been going on for _how _long, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred dragged his spoon through the enormous sundae sitting in front of him, not saying a word. Once upon a time, he could have eaten such a large sum of ice cream by himself, but now he just felt sick. Sick and exhausted. "Can I go home, now? You've already asked me that question like twice now."

"Bunny," Arthur chided quietly next to him in the booth, putting a hand on his brother's thigh and squeezing it. He hadn't called Alfred that for many, many years. "For a few weeks now," he answered, turning to give Ivan an icy look, who only stared at the table, his arms still draped around Alfred. "_Literally_ ever since the Russki here started dating my brother."

The officer's dark eyes fell onto Ivan, gaze boring on him. He raised an eyebrow, his expression torn between condemnation and cynicism. Ivan looked up at him and smiled, and suddenly the cop was much more interested in looking at Alfred: "I heard about the snake in your locker, Alfred. Are you quite positive you didn't put it there yourself?"

The boy stiffened, and he resisted the urge to throw the expensive dessert plate in the officer's face. Ivan must have sensed his feelings, because he nuzzled Alfred's cheek, whispering: "That'd be a waste of ice cream, Alfredka."

He almost smiled. "No," he said simply. "I...I hate snakes."

"And is there anyone around you who's aware of this fact?"

"Dunno. Arthur. Iv. My brother Mattie."

The officer made a note. "I see. If we're to believe you and Mr. Braginski, seems like someone's got it out for you, especially if they've taken the time to break into both of your lockers. What have been the underlying threats? It is purely harassment, or are these people asking something from you?"

Alfred gave the man a bewildered look.

"What?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Well...you say they've been leaving messages. Of what sort?"

_And Alfred stood up, took the stupid sundae that his brother had forced on him, and dumped its contents all over Officer What's-his-name's face, watching with ill-disguised glee as syrup and whipped cream slid down his swollen, infuriated face_-

"...essentially, break up or worse things will follow," Arthur answered for Alfred again.

"So why haven't you?"

"I am thinking this questioning is getting us nowhere," Ivan murmured, speaking up for the first time since the officer had begun interrogating them.

"You know...chances are this was a random, drive-by shooting," The officer said gently. "Although culprits who fire at random in public areas usually do their best to take out _someone_ before fleeing the scene. If they weren't at an angle to get at you boys, there were plenty of people rushing around who were easy targets. Seeing as how the assailant fired all four shots directly in your direction…." He shrugged helplessly and Alfred closed his eyes, folded his arms and immediately hid his face. Two pairs of hands were at his back almost immediately, gentle, low murmurs from Arthur. He couldn't say whether he was grateful or ready to scream. Either way, he wanted to cry. He was so _sick_ of crying. Alfred blinked the stinging away in his eyes.

"Maybe this is just someone's way of saying I need a haircut," he said, voice muffled as his hand wandered through the honey-colored spikes.

"This isn't funny, Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed. "For God's sake, someone tried to fucking kill you!"

"I agree," Ivan said, so quietly he was almost inaudible. Alfred looked up and was immediately sickened at the large, sunken eyes Ivan was bearing. He looked like a stricken child, gaunt and scared. "Should Alfred...go?"

Alfred blinked, looking lost. Arthur was frowning at Ivan, but in a strange, contemplative matter, as if the Russian were a particularly perplexing puzzle in the newspaper.

The police man gave him a blank look. "What? Into hiding?"

"Shouldn't Alfred be taken into protective custody?" Ivan urged. "There must be something of the sort if someone is after him. A witness protection program? Is too dangerous for Alfred to stay out in open-"

"But no one was killed," the cop reminded Ivan patiently, licking a finger and flicking through his notebook. "Sorry folks, it's not my call. If there was underlying evidence that proved that same person who sent the threats was the same who shot at you, then-"

"How could you?" Ivan demanded, beginning to rise from his seat. Alfred tried to tug him back down, clattered up to stop Ivan from advancing to the officer, his knees hitting the table. "Someone threatens to murder Alfred, and then someone shoots at him! What more evidence do you possibly need, **ебать**?!"

"It's not my call," the man repeated. "Though you might want to at least _try_ obliging these people, Alfred, Ivan. At least try not to make yourselves so much a political statement. You're basically making yourselves open targets."

Ivan gave the man a crooked, hideous smile. Aghast, Alfred stared at him, outraged.

Was it even _legal_ for the man to say anything like that?

The cop tugged out a card from his pocket and handed it to Alfred, who accepted it with a lifeless hand. "The guidance counselor at my church can offer you assistance, Alfred, and I'm sure the local youth groups would be happy to oblige." His voice dropped low. "If you file a prayer card, I'm sure we can ask God to help you work through this unChristlike lifestyle before you can be saved."

All the remaining color drained out Alfred's already pallid face. Arthur gave the man a positively poisonous look, reaching out for the card in his little brother's limp hold and ripping it in two. Ivan said nothing. The cop shrugged.

"The most I can do for you young gentlemen is give you all a ride home."

Arthur reluctantly accepted. Ivan turned to the officer.

"Wait. Of the bullets recovered, what sort were they?"

The man took out his notebook, flipped through it. "Uh, lemme see here….45 acp ammo. Not a bad choice if you're looking to pack some heat, but my guess is that they couldn't get close enough to take any of you down without risk of being identified." A forty-five...Ivan knew nothing about guns, but the model sounded faintly familiar. "We've more or less determined that the shooter was standing on the rooftop of a shoe store across the street, a few hundred yards away from where you boys were standing. They fired four rounds, but while their aim sure as hell wasn't bad considering the distance, a pro would have used a more sophisticated tool like a sniper for a better shot. My guess here is that we're dealing with a novice shooter or someone who didn't have the resources to obtain a sniper assault weapon with a scope."

That information didn't make Ivan feel particularly better as he stood up, Alfred's hand in his own. He was deep in thought. A forty-five. At closer range, and just an inch or so's adjustment, Alfred could have bled out on the sidewalk, perhaps have died immediately.

_Oh, God. God, why?_ When he found a living sunflower in his life, someone to hold and love even as they held his heart for him...

A forty-five. Ivan scooted into the police vehicle when the cop held the door open for him. If Ivan thought very carefully, he was certain he wouldn't be able to identify a gun by its technical name. But he knew of a forty-five caliber. Had heard about it somewhere before. Where? Ivan knew he hadn't read it in a book or heard about it on television, but he could picture the weapon perfectly in his head.

He tried to shake it off as Alfred's head drooped against his shoulder. Arthur tried to offer Alfred the end seat instead of the middle, but the boy didn't say anything, and so with a huff and an angry look at Ivan, Arthur reluctantly scooted in, door slamming behind him.

Ivan patted and stroked Alfred's arm, his hair. A weapon was a weapon, regardless. It didn't matter what type it was, so long as it could hurt Alfred, its owner _meaning_ to do his heart some serious harm. He had no interest in guns. Ivan preferred to plot his revenges with extremely blunt objects.

If he ever found the shooter, he would crush them himself.

But his murderous thoughts kept wandering back to the weapon. Did he know someone with a gun-was that why his thoughts were so preoccupied, so fixated? He felt like his subconscious was trying to send him some obscure clue, but it came in whistles and beeps, a language Ivan could only partially understand.

Arthur was quiet during the trip to the apartment, his eyes never once leaving his silent sibling. But the last dregs of his composure slipped down the drain when they came to the Jones' apartment, a note stabbed to the door with a long knife.

* * *

_Flashback: Twelve Years Ago_

_"And Katyusha, I want you always to keep your key on you when you three are home alone. I'd keep the cabinet unlocked, but..." _

_"Of course. Mama, you don't have to worry so much. I already keep my house key on me at all times, so it shouldn't be hard for me to remember my spare. But I'm sure I'll never have to use it." Katyusha pulled out her keyring and jingled it cheerfully, getting Ivan's attention. The little boy looked up from his picture book; Mama was looking cross. Or harried. Or worried. Maybe a combination of the three. _

_"My girl, if a burglar came to the house, I do think you would be gracious to him even as he tied you up," Mrs. Braginski said curtly, shaking her head. "I know you will not play with such a dangerous weapon Katyusha, but I am thinking that Natalya would be much more likely to fire." _

_"Mother!" Mrs. Braginski shrugged, pulled out a key from her pocket, unlocked the old cabinet drawer. Ivan pretended to not be looking, but he observed with great interest as his mother pulled out a gun from the cabinet. He thought guns were just TV! He'd have an exciting story to tell Alfred. _

_"Is true," the woman said blandly, handing the instrument out to Katyusha and raising an eyebrow when the girl flinched. "Oh, dear, it's not going to bite you." Ivan saw the white number 45 on the side of the gun. "I suppose you would rather use that old pitchfork of yours if it came to a crisis, but I just need you to take responsibility, only in case of a major emergency." Mrs. Braginski put the gun back in the cabinet, locking it fast. "If an intruder comes into our home, I will be using it. Or anything I can get hands on. But if you are alone..."_

_"I know, Mother," Katyusha said kindly. "You can count on me. No one will hurt Ivan or Natalya as long as I'm around."_

_Ivan wondered if he'd fire a gun to protect himself. The disappointing answer was that he'd be frightened; guns did not mean impenetrability in cartoons-but he thought he might do it. Knew he would. Imagined someone pointing a gun at Mother, Katyusha, Natalya, or Alfred-_

_He spent the rest of the afternoon hitting trees with sticks._

* * *

With a shaking hand, as if the handle of the knife might burn him, Alfred slowly tugged the knife out of the door, the paper falling free. He looked at the message, and his stomach rolled several 360s, his heart beating a frightened rhythm in his throat.

There was a caricature of what was clearly Alfred, though hideously distorted and with Xs for eyes, tongue lolling out, body replaced by a large puddle of blood. It would have been hilarious if not for that. If not for the fact that he'd been drawn with such hatred, such vehement red slashes. So much blood.

Worst still was the note underneath it: _You fag around with Braginski any more and I won't miss next time_.

Alfred let the hand holding the note fall to his side, the paper sliding out of limp fingers to the ground. Numb. He was numb. Better that than scared out of his mind, ready to turn tail and run for his life out of the building.

**"I KNEW IT!"**

Startled, Alfred looked up; Arthur was tearing the paper to little pieces, seething at Ivan, who only looked at him in surprise.

"I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU!" Arthur shrieked, lunging forward and it was only by Alfred seizing him around the waist that the man's flailing, clawing hands did not reach the Russian. "_You and your little—!_ Gone too far," He rasped, clutching a stitch in his chest, face twisted with the most agonizing hatred. It looked as if he were in mortal agony. "Let go of me, Alfred! And you," he snarled. "Get away. Get away from my brother, you sick freak!"

"Shut up!" Alfred exclaimed, his eyes widening in distress and anger. "Artie, how is this any of Ivan's fault? I don't—"

"It's _all_ his fault, Alfred!" Arthur rounded on him before wheeling around to face Ivan's silent form again, and before Alfred could stop him, Arthur landed a slap across his enemy's face. With an angry exclamation Alfred seized him and pulled him away, but Arthur was still roaring like a lion, or an utterly deranged person: "YOU! STAY AWAY FROM MY FUCKING FAMILY, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! If I see you or any of your ilk near him again, I'll KILL YOU!"

"Arthur!" Alfred seized his brother and forced the furious man away from Ivan, who simply looked at them both. "Iv, he really doesn't mean it, he just—"

"I see," Ivan said after a moment, his voice as thoughtful as if Arthur had asked him a fairly interesting question rather than hurled a vicious series of death threats at him. "Let us say our goodbyes to each other then."

"Like hell we will! Please, Arthur, it's not his fault! Ivan, Iv, baby, please-"

"You don't understand," the man growled. "You're not allowed to see Alfred anymore. And Alfred," he rounded on his little brother, voice going down a few notches, still furious. "Like it or not, you AGREED to be mine! I have the full right to forbid you from ever seeing this Russki bastard ever again! You almost died!" A burst of wild laughter, more like a sob than anything else. The enraged green eyes were already dewing up with tears. "Think the state is going to let you leave me when I'm doing all I can to protect you?! Damn it all, I almost fucking lost you! _I almost fucking lost you_!"

Aghast, Alfred stared at his elder sibling in disbelief, as if watching a normally well-behaved little boy suddenly have a raging tantrum completely out of the blue. Arthur put a shaking hand on the wall to support himself, chest heaving with fire and _horror_.

"Alfred, you're the only family I have left, my best friend, my life! Don't you care about me at all? If I lost you now, I couldn't….I can't….."

The man doubled over, shaking with silent sobs. Ivan and Alfred's eyes met, Alfred's reflecting sad confusion, Ivan's cool indifference.

"No. Ivan, get out of here," Arthur spat, his eyes as wild as a mother wolverine's with an injured pup. "And don't you ever let me see your face in here again. I'll notify the security guard downstairs not to let you in."

"I will say my farewells to Alfred." Ivan said stiffly. "And I will leave you alone."

The tears came again, pouring down Alfred's face. "No—!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed to slits. "You have two minutes. If Braginski is still in here after that, I'm getting my gun."

Momentarily distracted from the misery of his existence, Alfred threw his sibling a flabbergasted look."You have a gun? Since when…."

But his brother stormed into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. Somewhere inside the apartment, Hero could be heard mewing timidly.

~*oOo*~

Shaking with dread, Alfred looked at Ivan, wincing at the red mark beginning to appear on his white face. _Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, please don't leave me, I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry_-!

He bit the inside of his mouth to keep the sobs building up in his throat, painful and pathetic and he stared up at the Russian with pain in his brokenhearted eyes.

"V-Vanya..." A step forward, and still all Ivan did was look at him, even as Alfred's fingers wandered to the slap mark, and Alfred opened his mouth to try again: Don't look at me like that I know I put you in danger I'm sorry please forgive me I'm sorry I'm sorry-

But after a stammered apology, the tears came at full capacity, and Alfred started crying and suddenly there was Ivan's coat pressed against his face, Ivan's scent filling his head and making it swim, and warmth wrapping around him and pain and hope and relief and fear battled it out in Alfred's windswept consciousness as he clung to Ivan and cried.

"Oh...**Солнышко**, **Солнышко**, I am sorry..."

Alfred lets out a bark of laughter at that, removing his glasses and scrubbing violently at red eyes, knowing they were short on time.

"Oh….oh, God, Ivan—Iv, I can't take this anymore," he whimpered.

"I understand," the Russian said softly. "If you want to leave me." His calloused hand cupped Alfred's cheek, and a terrible sadness filled his dead eyes. "You almost got hurt."

"Naw, not happening," Alfred returned immediately, standing on tiptoe to bury his face in Ivan's neck. Ivan did not move, just stared morosely at the door where the knife gash still lay; a scar.

"But perhaps if they think we are separated, they will leave you alone. I don't know what to do anymore!" His voice began to rise. "You almost died, if not for an inch-!"

"But I _didn't_," Alfred reminded him, kissing him on the jaw and wrapping his arms around "I wanna stick by you, babe, if you'll let me. Just like always. And for all we know the shooter was after YOU, not me."

_But the bullets immediately stopped flying just as soon as Ivan threw himself over Arthur and Alfred to protect the brothers. Ivan had been an open target, prime to take down. It was not entirely impossible that he'd been the one meant to die, but_…

"I have an idea."

The gusto with which Alfred nodded, looking to him expectantly with such hope on his miserable face was both gratifying and heartbreaking. Ivan planted a kiss on Alfred's forehead.

"Tell no one that we are still secretly together—not even Matthew or Arthur," Ivan added hastily. "Who knows how they are getting their information? If the attacks stop…we may get an idea of where they are coming from. We might drop hints of us getting back together—we will see who finds out and who reacts. We will find our culprit from there."

"I don't get it."

"Just trust me, **Солнышко**," the Russian said gently. "But for now, we must act as if we've gone our separate ways. Just for awhile."

"Iv, we can't," Alfred protested. "I don't care what Arthur said-that's sort of like letting them win! If we just hang in there for a little while longer…."

"Nyet," said Ivan fiercely. "I do not want to live like meek, cowering animal anymore! Alfred, I love you, but I won't risk your life, even to be with you!" Upon seeing Alfred's hurt expression, Ivan pulled him into another embrace, breathing in Alfred's light, honeysuckle scent that tasted like rain.

"I love you. You are my heart."

Alfred pulled back from the hug, his hands wandering to grip Ivan's tightly. "Ivan, I don't want you to get hurt either. I—"

**"Alfred!** If you aren't in here_ by ten seconds, _and I find Braginski is still here-!"

"I will go," Ivan said kindly, extracting his hands out of Alfred's hold. "Tomorrow, we start from the very beginning," Ivan whispered in his ear, wrapping his time-worn, beloved scarf around Alfred's shoulders before pulling him into a brief, desperate kiss. This kiss wasn't so much passion as it had been in the closet, wasn't so much sweetness as it had been that evening in the rain. It was painful, bittersweet devotion. Hopelessness. And from somewhere within the feel of Ivan's mouth crushed against his, Alfred felt the stirring of hope. Optimism. Something that made him smile even when he and Ivan pulled apart and pressed their foreheads against each other, Ivan's stupid smile mirroring his own stupid grin.

"With my mother," Ivan added as he made his way down the hall, to the stairs, Alfred wanting to trail him. "Tomorrow, we tell her everything."

~*oOo*~

* * *

Alfred kept his eyes averted as he slowly entered the apartment, seeing a pair of well-shined loafers waiting for him. Wordlessly, he stepped by them, picking up Hero and sitting down at the kitchen table, untying and retying Hero's bandanna.

Arthur was waiting for Alfred to break the silence first, as he always did. Well, tough luck. Alfred finished the knot, decided the bandanna was crooked, and unwound the material before starting again.

A cough. When he spoke again, all the anger and resentment had been washed from the spiteful shouting Alfred had heard earlier, the voice that had only contributed to his fright. You'd never think the two were one in the same.

"Alfred…"

"Ivan and me," Alfred said curtly, scratching Hero behind the ears and feeling the cat thump his leg in appreciation. "We're done." _You didn't have to fucking slap him._

He didn't look at Arthur. Didn't want to see his reaction, whether it be approval or resignation or something else entirely.

"I…I see," Arthur said wonderingly, and oh, was Alfred glad that he had not looked up at that face, seen the _relief _and_ satisfaction_ in Arthur's voice given a tangible form. "Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, I suppose—oh," Arthur said hastily when Alfred stopped stroking Hero, normally warm eyes suddenly freezing. Hero leapt down from his lap, looking unnerved. "Alfred, really, I am sorry. Truly. You understand why I made you break up with him, right?" Arthur dragged out the other chair and hurriedly sat down, putting an arm on a mutinous Alfred's forearm. The younger sibling resisted the urge to shake it off. "It's just not safe for you anymore. Once your school gets wind up this, I'm sure you'll be just fine."

"And what if it doesn't?" Alfred asked, with barely moving lips. "What if this kind of stuff just—just keeps happening?"

"I'm sure it won't, love."

"And why are you so sure?"

Arthur suddenly found great interest in untying his tie. "Just...well...because," he stammered. "If these attacks started when you began dating Braginski, and these people are urging you to leave him, well, um-" A painful shrug. Alfred said nothing. The ticking of the nearby clock seemed painfully loud and prominent.

"I can make some tea," Arthur said gently after awhile. "If you want to talk—"

Alfred irritably shook his head and then sighed.

"Artie, 'm sorry, but the last thing I wanna do is talk right now." The apartment the two brothers worked hard to keep as their own was suddenly extremely confining, walls closing in on him. He just wanted to be left alone. "It's real late, and I'm tired…"

"Of course, of course." Arthur said hastily, standing up so quickly he knocked over his seat. "I'm sorry, Alfred. If it makes any difference to you, he's just the wrong sort for you, really not worthy of you. You're doing yourselves both a favor by doing this, in _so_ many ways."

_Shut up. Just shut up, shut up, shut up, _Alfred thought bitterly as he headed into the bedroom, pulling off his shirt along the way, throwing it behind him and hoping it hit the basket but not really caring as he threw himself on the bed. _You don't know anything about him._

A second later, a pair of arms were circling his waist, and for a stupid moment Alfred thought Ivan had returned. But Arthur tugged his surprised younger brother against his chest, his hands dancing up the sides of his body, chin resting on Alfred's shoulder. The younger stiffened, irritation melting away to confusion, especially when Arthur's hands briefly drifted to his stomach, his muscles, making him shiver.

"You're, um, affectionate tonight, aren't you?" Alfred squeaked uncertainly, growing increasingly uncomfortable when the ministrations did not stop. Arthur nuzzled him, and Alfred wondered if he felt the heat building up beneath his skin, his face burning with a hot blush as Arthur's slender fingers wandered to his back, and Arthur began to lovingly rub the muscles.

"Um, no thanks. You don't have to do that. I'm good." Goddamnit, his voice was NEVER that high.

"How can you be?" Arthur asked wonderingly, his fingers rubbing small circles on Alfred's skin. "You were shot at, Alfred. You broke up with the same schoolyard chum who betrayed you all those years ago. I'm just trying to help you relax. You seem so unhappy."

_Betrayed? What the fuck, we were stupid little kids! Why does it even matter? _

"And you're shivering," His brother added gently, giving the nape of Alfred's neck an affectionate kiss. "I thought you might be cold. I can warm you."

"Ha." Alfred laughed feebly, forcing a smile and ignored the butterflies swarming in his stomach as he rolled onto his side. But Arthur seemed closer than ever, as if he'd subtly inched over too, pressed against Alfred's bare skin. "Ooookay, that's parental overload if I ever saw it. Uh, Artie, I changed my mind. Don't think I can sleep...horrible um, existential angst because my boyfriend and I broke up and someone tried to kill me and stuff. I think I'm gonna go watch TV."

"It's late," Arthur murmured disapprovingly, sliding a hand through Alfred's hair and ruffling it. "But I don't mind if you stay home from school tomorrow, and you can call in sick at work. Still, I think you should get some sleep."

"I will," Alfred promised, sitting up but to his surprise Arthur pulled him back down against the bed, turning him over so that Alfred had to look his older brother in the eyes.

"I'd really rather you stay here for right now." Arthur said pleasantly, though there was no room for argument in his voice. "But if you really want to watch a movie, I'll find a nice one we can watch together."

"Artie, I just..." Alfred grit his teeth, tried not to lose his patience. _If it were anyone else but Arthur. Or Ivan._ "I'm a little freaked out right now, okay? Just need some time to think for a bit."

"That can come later. You almost died. Is it so bad I want you near me right now?"

"You almost got hit too," Alfred snapped.

"Stay here," Arthur begged softly, his green eyes enormous and pleading in the dim lamplight. "_Please_. I'm..." He shook his head, looking disgusted with himself. "I'm _scared_, Alfred. I want so badly to do the right thing, but I don't know what it is anymore. I can't….I can't…."

He buried his face in his hands, and Alfred's heart nearly broke at the sight. He immediately lay down next to his brother, and natural instinct pushed him to pull Arthur into an embrace, regardless of how angry Alfred was with him. Arthur was scared, and he needed someone, like Alfred had needed Arthur so desperately for so many sad nights. Arthur buried his face in Alfred's chest, and the younger ignored the discomfort and just held him.

The reposition of roles was strange, but also nice in a way: Alfred felt as if he had just earned a bit more power in his strange relationship with his sibling. Somewhere whilst looking after Alfred, Arthur had become both parent and brother to him, and now the guy was just stuck between a rock and a hard place. Alfred still burned with silent fury over whathad just transpired in the hallway, wished with all of his might that he were holding Ivan, and not Arthur, but guilt assuaged his conscience, and he held Arthur all the tighter.

The guilt and obligation whispering in his ears called him a whiny teenager and reminded him that Arthur was just doing his job as legal guardian and Alfred's best friend, his family. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, Arthur just wasn't a people-person. For some tragic reason, he and Matthew just drifted apart, and he didn't go well with crowds, didn't ever have friends over. Even when he was growing up, Arthur had never expressed any interest in hanging out with anyone but his brother.

Arthur's head was tucked underneath his, the older male just lying quietly as Alfred ran a hand up and down Arthur's back, stroking and soothing. After awhile, Arthur buried his face in Alfred's shoulder, and the younger sibling smiled, albeit a bit sadly as he awkwardly sat up, Arthur growling a protest that quickly went away as Alfred began to rock the two back and forth. He thought he felt something hot trickle onto his arm.

Poor Arthur. He was taking this a lot harder than anyone else, probably still scared out of his mind. As cruel as he'd been to Ivan, Alfred just couldn't stay angry at him, regardless of how resentful he might be. Now he felt powerless again; after all, this was the man who had nursed him when he'd been sick, rocked him on countless nights when Alfred had been sad, worked to get the two their own lives outside a "home" filled with unwanted, dispirited youth. Who'd been there to rock Arthur or console him when he'd been exhausted, been upset or fed-up with the world?

Was he a bad or less devoted person for not being more upset with him for screaming at Ivan, striking him? In that brief moment, Alfred had wanted to _hit_ Arthur hard, enough to sending him falling to the ground. A second later, he was just sickened with himself.

~*oOo*~

When Alfred finally went to sleep, Arthur looked up at him, admired his brother's sweet face. Wished away the dark rings that had no business being under Alfred's eyes-well, soon enough they would be gone, Arthur would see to it. And everything could be back to the way it was, minus Ivan.

Natalya still had to pay, however. But he'd settle that shortly. He had all the time in the world, and now he was just luxuriating in the feeling of Alfred cradling him. He suppressed an embarrassed chuckle. It had worked, as he had known it would, feigning fright. Alfred was just that sort of person. _Dearest, dearest._

His lips brushed against the hollow at Alfred's throat.

_Just one kiss. That's all it is. I deserve it. _

He protected his little brother from an undeserving, ungrateful menace, would never know the joys of being completely joined with his love, so was an innocent kiss so terrible?

Hesitantly, Arthur's lips brushed against Alfred's in the lightest of feather-like touches. He quickly pulled back, his green eyes sharply zipping up and down his little brother's face, searching for any reaction in the tiny crack of light their door offered in the darkness. Upon seeing Alfred's face to be unchanged as he continued his quiet breathing, Arthur eagerly bent down for another kiss, again checking to see if he'd stirred his bedmate. Alfred slept on,

So warm. Alfred's body felt so warm and pleasant next to his. Arthur's fingers hungrily wandered up and down Alfred's body, pressing him up against his own skin firmly to soak up the soothing heat, murmured comforting noises as Alfred squirmed slightly in his sleep. Arthur let his hands slowly slide down to the arch of Alfred's hipbone to the apex at his thighs, smiling when his brother shifted again.

So precious. Nearly lost to him forever. Arthur's smile widened, but the tears threatened to burn in his eyes again.

_My stupid…beautiful…love._

He kissed Alfred on the lips again, wanting to remove the taint of the awful hulking freak's lips and replace it with his own, his fingers. Oh, God, how he wanted to slide a finger in his little brother's mouth and feel him suckling at him again, the way he had when he was so small, still _teething_-

This was becoming unbearable. His dreams were haunted with Alfred's face, a beautiful, beautiful face, and of taste and touch and moans and _pleasure_.

_I love you. _

He bitterly rolled away. No one was allowed to touch Alfred's skin, even himself. But he wanted to. So badly.

_I want you to love me. _

He wanted Alfred to return the wild feelings gnawing away at him, to need Arthur's body rocking inside of his while Alfred clung on and whimpered encouragingly, his eyes filled with a fraction of the love Arthur felt in his breast.

It wasn't….completely impossible now.

The savage creature in Arthur's heart raised its head and began to sniff at the world hopefully.

If Alfred could accept Ivan, then…..

_Maybe all hope wasn't yet lost. _

~*oOo*~

* * *

Natalya was smiling. Natalya never smiled. And she never wore jeans or glitter on her skin. Ivan gave her another bewildered glance as he began to head up the stairs, his little sister dogging his footsteps.

"I am sorry for your loss, big brother." Natalya's sadistically gleeful tone told Ivan all too clearly that she wasn't sorry in the slightest. "Are you sure you are done with him? Really and for truly?"

They reached the top of the stairs. Ivan nodded carelessly and gave his sister a thoughtful look as he observed her in her new outfit. Natalya preened as Ivan's gaze wandered to the embroidered sunflower at her knee.

Natalya almost never wore pants. Katyusha had been a tomboy, preferred to wear overalls at any opportunity, but Natalya screamed and kicked and fought if someone tried to wrestle her into anything but a dress. She always said it was easier to move that way.

Ivan's eyes narrowed as Natalya turned around, giving her brother a back view of her pretty, lithe figure, accelerated by the ruffled pink shirt and the slender jeans.

"So, you just went shopping...today?"

"Da, big brother. Don't I look nice?" She turned again, and Ivan's gaze wandered to a pair of sandals on her feet.

"You got new shoes, too?" _Shoes._

"Da, brother. What do you think of them?"

Ivan gave his sister a good, long smile before silently retreating inside his bedroom, deep in thought.

* * *

His bare feet padded quietly against the wooden kitchen floor before Arthur grabbed his jacket and slipped on his shoes. He locked the door. Walked away. Walked back to confirm that the door was locked. Walked down the stairs to the main lobby and pulled out his cell phone; the neighbors had sent in enough nasty complaints about the noise, and he'd really, really rather Alfred not overhear his conversation.

Natalya picked up on the first ring, her voice incredibly smug.

"Natalya," Arthur murmured, almost lovingly as he went outside. "You are dead, little bitch, _dead_."

_"So you say,"_ the girl said in a bored voice. _"But your threats are empty and stupid, Arthur Jones, just like your brother."_

"You're not doing Ivan any favors by doing this," Arthur returned softly. "Do you honestly think I'm not going to retaliate?"

This time, there was a pause. _"I will tell him everything. He will be fine."_

"Telling him everything means telling him about your involvement," he reminded her, looking up at the sliver of moon peeking out in the sky, rather like a fingernail. "And, presumptuous, brainless ox notwithstanding, I doubt he's going to take it very kindly." He smirked when he heard Natalya make a sound. "The game is up. Alfred's the only family I have left. And you're going to pay for this, one way or another."

_"You realize that your telling the pig everything will mean that he'll hate you forever, right?" Natalya hissed gleefully. "And it's because of me that my brother is through with your stu-"_

"If you finish that sentence, I will gladly gut your brother. And..." he added with no small amount of pain in his eyes, "That's a risk I'm willing to take. I care more about Alfred's safety more than his feelings towards me."

_"You are a fool."_

"A warning, Natalya, I see your brother near mine, I think YOU are plotting anything else, and I will destroy you. I will kill you and everything you hold dear, burn them before your eyes until you BEG me to kill you!" Arthur's voice rose. "You could have killed him! You could have killed my Alfred! I don't care what your little intentions were, you miserable little bitch! Alfred is mine._** Body and soul,"** _Arthur hissed, a callous, maniacal glee lighting up his feverish face, giving animation to a gaunt figure alone in the cold. "Body and soul, he's always belonged to me, and if you touch what's mine, you horrible little shit, I'll-" Arthur closed his eyes, recaptured his composure. Natalya did not sound particularly concerned over Arthur's loss of control. In fact, she sounded amused:

_"I am prepared to endure everything and anything for my Vanya."_

"No amount of physical pain I could inflict on you could be as bad as anything I do to your brother."

_"What could you possibly do to him? My brother is strong. He would crush you in a fight."_

"My dear, dear little bitch, haven't you ever heard the expression, _'there's no need to outmatch what you can outwit_?'" Arthur asked softly. "And it wouldn't take much to do so, I assure you. Do us all a favor and shack up with your horny oaf already-get it out of his system," he added languidly, holding the phone away from his ear when the shrieks started sounding. "And you might want to see to it that your brother doesn't head into his bathroom anytime soon if you want this stupid treaty of ours to last."

_"Why?" _Natalya demanded, her voice becoming ice cold. "_What's there?"_

Arthur cheerily hung up the phone just as the cries started echoing from Natalya's end.

~*oOo*~


	13. Dasvidanya, Darling

~o***Dasvidanya, Darling***o~

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS LONG AND GODAWFUL SO I HAD TO SPLIT IT UP. **

**Second Warning: Sex, sex, sex, and more sex written by a very inexperienced and nervous author.**

**Third warning: CHARACTER DEATH. **

**By the way Molly, here is your food. :)**

**Hello, gentle readers. Sorry it took me so long...and if some of you want to kick me after what I discussed with some of you would definitely NOT happen DOES...that's fine. Hopefully a long chapter will compensate. It's too long; I get it, I need an intervention.**

**To those of you wondering why Arthur and Ivan didn't kick the policeman's derriere last chapter, there's a valid reason on both their parts. Arthur was infuriated but didn't want to encourage Alfred into thinking his behavior was acceptable (remember kids, homosexuality is evil unless it is with a blood relation). Ivan was equally unhappy, but he's kinda doubting too...his church has taught him that same-sex relations are condemned and he's worried about Alfred.**

**Please review, my dear friends. Despite the fact that this story is infuriatingly long and it takes awhile for stuff to happen, I hope you'll stay with me for the next few chapters.**

~o*oOo*o~

* * *

Flashback: Twenty Years Ago

"_What was in the shed?" _

_"Wasn't a shed," Agatha mumbled, rubbing red eyes with a fist and hugging her knees to her chest tightly. The normally soothing touch of her fiancé's hand at her back made her wince just a little. "It was a _shrine. _This _sick, twisted_ shrine, to this woman we'd met at some stupid church social or something. P-Papa hadn't even wanted to go, but Mama made him…and then, while we were just standing around, Dad and I bored stupid and Mom chattering on to everyone about nothing…." The pretty young woman shivered, though Stanley had draped his athletic jacket over her shoulders. _

_"It's okay if ya don't wanna talk about it no more, sweetheart. I mean…I wanna know, but if…" _

_"Then, this couple came up to us and started talking," Agatha continued dully, as if Stanley had not interrupted. "And Dad…Dad, who never gave a shit about anything in his life….least of all his own family…it's like this_ lightbulb w_ent off in his head and he looked so_ happy. _You woulda thought he just ran into his long lost BFF or something. He was practically levitating, for God's sake." _

_"Huh? But why?"_

_"It was the lady…Dad was completely transfixed. He didn't say much that night, but he spent the entire evening drifting after her, looking like some goddamn lost puppy. I think Mom knew—hell,_ I _knew, he _never_ looked at Mama like that—he just would not stop staring for the life of him, and it was starting to make her and her husband seriously uncomfortable. Mom finally dragged him out of there, and all the way home he just raved on and on about her. Wouldn't shut up, wouldn't take a second to realize his wife had tears running down her face. I hated him then." Agatha let out a long sigh. "Almost as much as I do now." _

_"I'm so sorry, babe." _

_"He turned from being a complete recluse to attending every social event that he could, encouraged Mom to host a whole lotta fancy and ridiculous parties. She always wanted to, woulda been thrilled if it were for any other reason but so that he could see _her.

_"He had the sourest face if SHE didn't show up….would head up the stairs without a word to anyone. But when SHE was there, he conveniently forgot to wear his wedding ring, he had to sit next to her, he had to talk and dance with her, bring her drinks and fuss over her like she was some stupid little princess. It made her husband mad as hell, and her creeped out as all hell, especially when he started "dropping in" to deliver church or community flyers, usually when her hubby was at work. While Mom was crying her eyes out and tarting herself up like a two dollar whore, I heard him ordering flowers, ones that didn't come to our address. Dad was always taking out books from the library, books full of infamous letters or poems….he started buying chocolates….he spent hours at his desk trying to write his own crappy soliloquies. I went through his garbage and read some of the mush he was trying to write. It would have been sweet if it weren't so wrong." Agatha ran her hands through thick curly hair. "And so _scary_." _

_Stanley was quiet for a moment. "What kind of…stuff did he write about, if ya don't mind me asking?" _

_"Stuff a little too erotic for a seventeen year old to read," Agatha replied waspishly, dropping her legs and kicking them back and forth in a resentful rhythm. "And so NEEDY. Like, 'I'll die without you' kind of crap. Like a romantic writer with all his flourishy writing combined with lovesick teenager, only he actually seemed to _mean_ it. That made it all the worse. The couple went so far as to move away—God, that pissed him off, he threw a huge temper tantrum—but he just drove the extra miles to take pictures of her as she was heading out in her bathrobe to fetch the newspaper." _

_"Ew." _

_"Seriously." The young woman threw her hands up in the air. "I couldn't leave for school fast enough. Mom called me almost every night and I told her to tell Dad to either knock it off or to just leave him. But she wouldn't. She'd just call me almost every evening and cry over the fact that Dad wasn't coming home until two in the morning these days, and that he preferred to eat in the shed rather than in the house. I took every excuse not to come home and visit for a year: I was sick over Spring Break. My roommate invited me to spend Christmas with her family in New York. I had to study over Thanksgiving for exams. God, Stan, I…just feel so awful, knowing that I left her alone. Knowing Arthur, he didn't even bother to spend a little time with her on those days. He just drove off to be a stalker and left her alone….all alone in that house…." _

_"It sounds like a real poisonous atmosphere. I wouldn't want to be there, either. But what finally…led to you…" _

_"I finally ran out of excuses during my second year. I stayed for a week...Papa was haggard, unshaved, looked like he didn't remember to eat, white like a ghost. There wasn't any room left in his life for Mom and me. He just…" She fought the lump determinedly swelling at her throat. _

_"The last night of my stay, while Mom was passed out drunk and Dad was being a freak somewhere, I thought I'd go in and check out the shed. Maybe he wasn't into the woman at all—maybe she was supplying him with hard drugs or something and that's why he kept brooding and hulking over her. I went in, and it was….Christ, it was a _nightmare_, Stanley. Like that room from_ A Beautiful Mind, _but it was carpeted with photos of her, from the time she was a little kid. He must have broken into her house…it was full of candles and creepy ass sketches and there was a lock of her hair on the desk, don't ask me how he got it….he p-picked out the wedding dress he wanted her to wear….that was there….and o-on his desk…." _

_Stanley's face was bloodless in the dark as he squeezed Agatha tenderly to him, not daring to say a word. Agatha choked on a sob. "He was strategizing…on how he could either lure her into being his…or how he could get rid of her husband. And some of those plans…they were so well thought out and feasible they_ terrified _me, Stan. I checked the drawers—he had a gun….he had her daily schedule written above his desk, her every move _choreographed_…and while I was trying to take all this in, D-Dad appeared behind me." _

_"Oh, God." _

_"I heard his footstep, and my heart stopped then and there, I was so scared….I turned around and there he was, just silent, his face stony but I couldn't tell what he was thinking, and…." Agatha shook her head vigorously, burying her face in Stanley's shoulder. "I wanted to cuss him out or hit him or scream or_ something, _but…my tongue was like ash, and I seriously thought he was going to kill me. Instead, he just stepped forward and yanked the picture of her I out of my hands._

_"He was like 'You saw her too, then? Isn't she beautiful?' And he smiled like I never saw him smile before and then he sat down at his desk, still grinning like some mad idiot. Couldn't move. Then, all gentle, he told me that I could admire his 'darling' as much as I wanted to, but he saw her first and she was _his_." Agatha let out a strangled hissing noise. "When I told him he was batshit crazy, he just laughed. And laughed…and laughed. Thought he'd never stop. _

_"Then, all of a sudden, he did, and he started bellowing with rage. How dare I come here, ungrateful little bitch, and all that. But it got worse; 'You're here to try and steal her away from me, aren't you? Don't touch her you conniving brat, you'll hurt her! She's mine, just mine, you lecherous little sneak!' Then, he went for his gun."_

_Stanley now clutched her so tightly Agatha was about blue in the face. His normally buoyant, boyish face was now clouded with supreme incredulousness and pain. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry, honey." _

_Agatha gently extracted herself somewhat from her lover's grip, trying to breathe a little. "Ran out, ran the hell away…he didn't come after me, just heard him crying in the background. He said something, I don't know what. Dragged Mom out of the house…she was still out of it…got my car and floored it out of there. Hours later, it was midnight and I was still on the road…I wasn't thinking clearly, just thought that maybe I'd keep going until I got back to school. But eventually I started running out of gas, so I stopped at a station and tried to breathe a little. Mom was still snoring in the backseat and it finally came to me to call the police, call anyone who could help…I mean, Dad was breaking the law, here. She had a restraining order against him and he was obviously ignoring it. Called the cops…but it was too little too late." _

_"Why?" _

_"He must have felt desperate when I got away…maybe he knew I would tell someone." Agatha's voice rose an octave higher. "I mean, what was I supposed to do? He was ready….to k-kill a man…." _

_"Sweetheart, shh, shh, you did the right thing. It's okay. You're a seriously brave chick, and I love you." _

_Agatha snorted, but with very little humor, removing her glasses and wiping her eyes. "He kidnapped her, Stan," she said dully, blankly staring down her front. "She was going out with her friends and he stole her off the streets hours after I'd left….dragged her into his car, and he...he...after he did something absolutely **horrible,** he had the audacity to ask her to marry him. Of course she rejected him, so Dad...I learned later on that he shot her and then himself. After Mom finally sobered up some and got the news…a few months later, I was at her funeral. She hung herself." _

_Stanley let out a sharp exhale before leaping off the bleachers. "Goddamn Jesus fuck hell Christ. Agatha….holy God…" _

_"She survived," Agatha murmured softly, her eyes two sad stars in the darkness. "The one Dad supposedly loved—he accidentally got her in the shoulder instead of the head. That's how I know...how so many people do. But do you still want to marry me?" _

_The young man turned around to gawk at her. "Ag, of course I want to marry you! _I love you._ And if our kids are _anything _like their Mom…" He just smiled, dumbfounded in wonder. "They'll be as strong as….strong as….shit, I can't even compare that to nothing. But I'll stay with you," Stanley vowed, bending to press an affectionate kiss to Agatha's growing womb. "Till death do us part or the Cubs win a World Series." _

_"Never?" _

_"Another hundred years, babe. With you and this beautiful baby." _

_Agatha placed her hands over the rough ones cupping her stomach, willing them to stay there. "Sometimes Stan, I have nightmares. That he'll be like…like him." _

_Stan flashed her one of his notorious winning smiles. "He won't, sweetheart. That's a promise." _

~o*O*o~

* * *

The following morning dawned bright and serene, and it was in very good spirits Arthur rose and went to class, despite the fact that a murderous Natalya had left him several voicemails already, most of them promising imminent laceration.

She might have congratulated him. It was a rare soul that could not only procure a hive of live yellow jackets in early April, but break into an occupied house with it and stash said hive away in Ivan's bathroom. He would have loved to have hidden it in the toilet, but the infuriated buzzing and subsequent drowning of most of the creatures would have given the game away too quickly. He'd settled on leaving the smoke-lethargic insects inside the bathtub behind the curtain.

Jotting down notes as his professor droned on, Arthur hid a toothy smirk from behind his hand, doodling a swollen corpse with an obscenely big nose on the corner of his notebook. Regrettably, Ivan had been not been stung, but he'd gotten his point across to the bitch witch: Natalya wasn't the only one willing to play murder.

Murder. The very idea ought to be giving him the proverbial shivers down his spine, or quicken his pulse at the very least. But ever practical, he started thinking about proper dump sites and wire and where he could buy a decent lock on a budget.

He ought to be drinking the lecture in, but a moment's pause to draw Natalya with her eyes plucked out couldn't hurt…

_Maybe it's time I make this a reality. _

Now he felt giddy. As the police had not come storming into their apartment in the dead of night, Arthur knew Natalya had not told her mother nor her brother where hence the hive of enraged hornets had come—he would have loved to know what excuse she fed to them—and now there was an ominous, resentful armistice between them. One which neither of them liked. He could guess at Natalya's manic thought process enough to know that she wanted revenge, and her finger would never waver from the trigger.

He tapped the edge of his mechanical pencil against his book. Maybe…maybe it was just time to convince Alfred to leave this town. His beloved would put up a fight, no doubt—Matthew lived here and it was here they had been born and raised—but Ivan was a dirty, disgusting pervert, very likely to heave himself back on Alfred. Because even his peanut-sized brain _had_ to pick up on the fact that he was just the used condom of a pig fucker that ought to have been thrown in front of a truck at birth and no one liked him. Alfred _pitied_ him, was all, because that was what his younger sibling _did._

If wringing the life out of Natalya was too difficult, he'd go for Ivan. And enjoy it. The memory of the Russian positively _raping_ his poor little brother's mouth that day he'd caught up to the two at the arcade made him...but while it would be fun, he had to be cautious. People weren't likely to allow a convicted murderer to be the caretaker of a young boy.

Besides, Natalya obviously wouldn't take _that_ sitting down—and she, beyond anyone else, worried Arthur. Even while cat-like and calculating, the girl was too reckless, too passionate to prove a point to be content playing simple defense. Better to get out now, unless he felt like settling Natalya himself. He _did_ have a gun, one Alfred wasn't supposed to know about. But if he targeted her and something went wrong, that left Alfred open to attack….

"….now, keep in mind that this will be covered on the exam…."

Irritated, Arthur's eyes wandered to the nearby window before they flicked back to his watch. He stifled a groan. Another forty-five minutes until he could get out of here, check up on Alfred and bring him lunch. That school food was absolutely disgusting, hardly suitable for a growing beauty.

_Alfred_. The warm, suet-sweet smugness from his triumph last night began to fade, replaced with a sensation rather like having a wet towel draped over his skin. His little brother looked so grim and devoid of his usual cheer when Arthur had seen him off at school this morning, hovering to make sure that only Matthew walked by his side in the halls, hand at his back. Alfred just couldn't understand yet how much better he was off without the Russki shiteater haunting his footsteps. Poor baby. Arthur would have to fix something special for supper Friday night—he could cram some other time. It had been awhile since the two enjoyed time alone, and it was exceptionally well-deserved on both their parts.

Arthur drew out a ballpoint pen from his pocket and started to draw two small boys curled up on a haystack, the taller one's arm protectively thrown over the other.

His blood went cold upon remembering how close Alfred had been to death last night. Or being severely scarred, or even made paralyzed...not that he wouldn't still adore him. It would just mean that before he made Ivan and Natalya **_go away_**, he would treat them a ride on the medieval torture Judas Seat first.

Paralyzed...

The pencil wandered away from his initial sketch to another one with a young boy in a wheelchair.

He wanted his little one to be well, strong and happy, but he also loved an Alfred completely dependent on him on for everything, trusting that Arthur would protect him indefinitely. And Arthur would. If Alfred were sickly or a cripple, he'd want for no other nurse than his elder brother, who would so tenderly and willingly wait on him, carry him wherever he wanted to go and cover a hot forehead with cool linens, cover a body shaking with chills with blankets. Never mind his fussing and fretting or tantrums and tears—Arthur's shadow would always fall over him like a cloak of perpetual safety and the man would ask no thanks. It had been so when they'd lived at the children's home and Alfred was ill with a cold or with strep throat. Arthur had enjoyed looking after him so much so he almost regretted when Alfred began to get better. He ignored the swift pang of guilt at his heart.

But Alfred was strong. A night of tears and hamburgers and he'd be fine. The young man rolled his eyes, the slate-blue shadows underneath them mitigated with fondness. But wouldn't Alfred prefer his brother's home cooking over fast food, considering just how much the young man raved about it? Arthur gloated, losing himself in sweet domestic reveries until a sparkle at the wall caught his eye. Oh, it was just light bouncing off the faded wedding ring his professor wore.

_Marriage, marriage, marriage_, he remembered the hedonistic little devil chanting when she was small, chasing after Ivan around the playground with her proverbial pitchfork. Arthur wondered if it was the act of marrying itself that had Natalya in such a frenzy—it was all she ever talked about, her prime obsession. She'd started cutting pretty dresses out of magazines at age four, decapitating the model and putting her own school picture on the figure's shoulders before pasting the grotesque image beside a doodle of Ivan, invariably flocked by dozens of little hearts. She'd gone so far as to make an invitation list (no one was invited) and a menu for a reception.

He smiled derisively; Arthur wasn't so stupid as to demand that from Alfred. Having him agree on a…more openly affectionate relationship would surely be enough. But now he reluctantly admitted the idea was appealing; what would it be like to hear Alfred earnestly promise himself to Arthur with the chipper and steadfast morality that made his mouth dry and his pulse start soaring?

Arthur thought he could see the appeal. _Mine_, a piece of paper would confirm, though that wasn't nearly enough. _'Yours'_ would do very nicely, said by a dazed little sibling as Arthur thrust his body inwards and made the boy gasp and wail and cry and beg for him to _stop_ because it was _too much _but Arthur wouldn't and Alfred would love him the more for it.

But one 'yours' wasn't enough. A thousand would have to fall from those sweet, gasping lips, each as sweet as clover honey before Arthur would be partially satisfied. What would it be like to carry Alfred to a bridal chamber and keep the door shut, **_he's mine, he's mine, you look at him and I'll saw your head off_**-to slide on the ring that had once been cut off Agatha Jones' broken finger after the woman had died?

Arthur tasted blood in his mouth; he was chewing on his lip again. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image to slide off his sweet dreams like rain on a window.

What bitter irony, that he should be left his mother's ring after his crime. The felony for which he had wholly expected to be incarcerated for at just nine years old, the one that haunted him for too many awful years.

The one that had wound up breaking Alfred's heart. In a flash, Arthur was doubled over, and then the young man dashed from the lecture hall, sick in the stomach as well as the heart.

~o*oOo*o~

_Not my fault. Not my fault. Not my fault. _

He rinsed his mouth with the metallic water, trying to chase the burning acid off his tongue before he looked at himself in the mirror, starting with repulsion. Good Lord, was this really him? This sickly, wide-eyed insomniac with hair plastered to his pale brow with sweat?

Scowling, he splashed water over his face, cursing when the effect made him look even worse. Pathetic. He was fine. Absolutely fine, because Alfred needed him to be, because it _wasn't_ his fault, what'd happened. He'd just wanted to hold his baby brother for an evening unmolested. Was that such a bad thing? It was likely Stanley's fault for _not checking_. If he were anything more of a father and less of an idiot, it would never have happened. Which would have been a very good or bad thing, depending on how you looked at it.

He straightened up, squared his shoulders like a soldier's, pulled out a comb from his pocket and began the process of making himself neat.

Arthur made up for it, made up for it a long time ago. It was an accident, and he'd loved his little precious back to happiness.

The way Arthur decided he would love Alfred into loving him.

It would take some time, but why wait for another gigantic retard to come lumbering about, thinking that they were worthy of Arthur's little bunny, that they could try sliding their tongues into his clueless brother's mouth?

He looked at himself. Looked past the neat sweater vest and tie and tweed slacks and instead saw Arthur the Murderer, so calm, so poised, so full of rage and power he could send anyone crumpling without a moment's mercy. Any kindness he had was reserved for Arthur the Kinight, that side of him which so nobly and overwhelmingly loved.

Arthur touched the small bulge in one of his bag's outer pockets. Finally managed to worm one of these away from the pharmacy with a dubious prescription just...just _because_.

If anyone tried likewise on Alfred he'd strike man dead, but he wasn't taking advantage of his little brother because it was just…a mild stimulator. Nothing like a roo…he wouldn't even finish the thought. It was just something that would kick-start Alfred's hormones when he was already feeling a bit low about losing the Russian ox, and make him feel good for awhile. A bit like the love potion Arthur tried to make when he was six, though that had gone disastrously wrong and Alfred wound up throwing up orange goo for two days.

And when Alfred was feeling better, more relaxed, the two could…chat some. Arthur could give him The Talk—he supposed he was due to give it soon anyhow—and perhaps afterwards Alfred might feel…curious. It was natural for young boys to feel that way. And there was nothing wrong with a loving elder sibling…giving a demonstration. He was obligated to give a very good one, and if Alfred happened to like it very much, well, there (probably) wasn't a law that said Alfred was restricted in his desire. Not when he could get bloody married if he wanted to with guardian consent, and Arthur wholly gave it.

He glanced at his watch…almost lunchtime. He better head home and start cooking now so that the food would be ready but still warm by the time he brought it back to Alfred. Somewhat woozy, he shook his light head and headed out, whistling.

Agatha's ring had been kept in a trust for her eldest son until he'd turned eighteen. Now it sat in a special safe Arthur kept hidden behind all his medical textbooks, a silver band that looped into a heart, at which a teardrop-shaped diamond glistened in the middle, dazzling. Stanley always did like gaudy stones.

Arthur would have to buy another one someday.

~o*oOo*o~

Alfred couldn't say that it was a good day. While no one tripped him in the hallways or called him nasty names or tried dealing him any unpleasant surprises, it was incredibly lonely, made worse by the nerves that nibbled at his stomach. Why did Ivan want to tell his mother the truth if the woman would consequently disown him? It was hard to think of a more awful fate, to be deliberately deserted by those you called family.

Actually, it would be nice if Arthur deserted him for just a _little_ bit, considering he insisted on showing up at lunchtime with a bag of something Alfred couldn't identify (it might have had mushrooms in it once), a big broad smile and a kiss, which embarrassed Alfred so badly he sank underneath the table as people erupted into giggles all around him.

_Please don't do this,_ he wanted to plead when he and Ivan passed in the hallways, determinedly not looking at each other. _It's not worth it._

But they had to fight back eventually. Someone had tried to kill him, Ivan and Arthur last night. This couldn't be allowed to continue, because Ivan was worth fighting for.

When at last the long day ended and Alfred sent Arthur his usual obligatory text message that he was heading to work (sort of a lie today) he politely downturned Matthew's request that he come over after school and headed over to Ivan's home, hands clenched into fists. At every small sound, he started, teeth grit, a fine sweat beginning to shine at his brow, back prickling horribly. His blue eyes kept wandering this way and that, and he purposefully doubled back and took strange, looping routes to get to his destination, in the off-chance that he was being followed.

_This was so, so stupid. So pathetic._ But he was afraid. What if the shooter from last night came back? When a truck drove by, honking noisily, Alfred dove behind a mailbox. He slept fitfully the night before, weird dreams intermingled with violence and of someone touching him, someone who definitely was not Ivan. Christ. This one year of school would cost him years of therapy.

When at last he did arrive at the Braginski residence the door opened before he even knocked and Alfred squawked as he was unceremoniously yanked inside, the door slamming behind them. With a long sigh, Alfred grinned up at Ivan, who stared back soberly before dipping his head to kiss him.

"Hey, babe..."

His feet ached as he stood on tiptoe, one of Ivan's large hands awkwardly cupping his cheek and running a thumb over it, the other tangling in his hair. Alfred clumsily crushed his lips against his, savoring the other's hot breathing on his neck and squeezing his shoulders as tightly as he could, conveying everything he might without saying anything at all.

Craning his neck when Ivan started peppering kisses there, Alfred groaned and shook his head, his arched feet beginning to ache. "Let's not do this. I just want you. Don't give a shit how."

"I will have to tell her eventually," Ivan murmured, his voice grave and sad as he made to pull back. The look was so miserable Alfred seized his startled boyfriend by the hair and tugged him back into another long kiss, Ivan's tongue lightly running across Alfred's lips. But he pulled back, hitched breathing escaping into a sigh. "I love you." Alfred beamed at him and made to speak, but Ivan held up a hand to silence him-God, he _knew_ Alfred hated that! "And this can't continue. A life where we cannot sleep and are always afraid and never happy is not a life."

The calm-assurance from last night had taken a significantly bitterer note, and judging from the bags underneath the young man's eyes, Alfred would hazard a guess that Ivan hadn't slept a wink.

"Ivan, what happened?"

The Russian's hands tangled around his own, pulled them to his heart. "You were nearly killed last night."

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head again, his gaze questioning and worried. "Something else—"

Ivan looked away, still feeling Alfred scrutinizing his expression. Damn, but he did know him too well.

"Ivan, what happened? What aren't you telling me?" Now he was beginning to sound angry.

"I'm just..." He shook his head. "Nyet. Mother's waiting for us in the den, Alfie. She knows I have something to tell you, and just in case...I have my bags packed."

The suspicious look in Alfred's eyes returned to fear. Regardless of the costs, Ivan would see to it that Alfred never, ever had to face life with such eyes again. "Baby, whatever happens, I'm here for you." On impulse, he pressed one of Ivan's hands to his lips, and the boy smiled at him, not one of his faux Death smiles but one of his large, lopsided and goofy, gentle grins that made him want to kiss him again. And again. And until Ivan pried him off. _I love you. I don't want you to do this but even if your Mom kicks you out, I'll take care of you_.

"Ivan? You were wanting to say something?" Mrs. Braginski called out from the living room.

Ivan closed his eyes and Alfred put an arm around his waist. "Hey now...c'mon, baby, it's all gonna be okay. Your hero's here."

Smiling at the cheesiness of the statement, Ivan simply nodded and the two headed to the living room together.

* * *

_~o*O*o~_

_Maybe we ought to have given her some booze first_.

Mrs. Braginski was seated in a throne-like armchair, most of the pillows piled behind her. Yuka was snoozing at her feet, and a fire was crackling in the normally never used grate. She beamed at Alfred and greeted him warmly, and Alfred nervously smiled back, wondering if the same woman for whom he'd given school-made Mother's Day gifts for much of his childhood was soon going to run the rusty old fire poker through his skull.

"What is it, Ivan?" She asked. "Are you in trouble?"

A long pause. "Sort of," Ivan said lowly, his eyes on the floor. Mrs. Braginski scoffed.

"Do not beat around the bushes. Either you are or you aren't. Which is it?"

"Mother," the Russian began falteringly. "What I am about to tell you….well, what _we_ are," he added, brow creasing and affectionate violet eyes shining as they rested on Alfred. _God, could you get any gayer than this?_ He saw it in the way the woman's eyebrows disappeared into flyaway gray hair. "I…just wanted to tell you beforehand that I love you and respect you." If Ivan was hyperventilating the way Alfred was, the only betrayal he gave was how much he was squeezing the hell out of the blond's hand. "Though you may not think so, when I tell you."

Far from looking shocked or worried, Mrs. Braginski cast her son a bored look. "Why?" the woman asked dryly. "Are you courting a Democrat?"

A small smirk cracked its way through on the anxious mask that might have once been Alfred's face. Ivan's mouth twitched, though his eyes remained solemn, wary.

"Mama, I've been dating Alfred." The words spilled out like a torrent of water from behind a broken dam. "I love him very much."

"Oh," Mrs. Braginski said numbly, her dark eyes flitting to Ivan and Alfred's hands wound around each other. _"Oh."_

For a moment, stillness. Alfred nervously cleared his throat, feeling a hoard of creatures writhing in his belly, heart pounding quietly in the horrible stillness inside. Outside. A stricken-looking Mrs. Braginski stared into space for what had to be a good long minute, unbearable silence, the idea of breaking it unbearable also, though in retrospect it might have been better to have ended it on his own terms. _Oh, God. Oh, God_. You heard horror stories about people coming out, ones you never wanted to believe but could anyway: People shoving you out of the house or dragging you to the basement and chaining you to a chair so that a priest could exorcise you or slamming down a gun in front of you and telling you you had one of two choices. _Oh, God. Oh, God_. His hands twitched feebly in Ivan's death grip, every muscle tensing as he prepared to spring. _If she starts screaming, I'll throw myself in front of him and pull him out of here_. But he could never shout at her, this woman whom he knew-and admittedly loved-better than his own.

After a long and icy pause, Mrs. Braginski at last leaned back in her seat, looking exhausted.

"Alfred, be a dear and fetch me something strong….the usual cabinet," she added carelessly, and he scurried to do just that. When he attempted to pour the vodka into a glass, Mrs. Braginski just muttered "Give me damn bottle," and so he meekly handed it over. Ivan attempted to take her hand, but the woman just batted her son away, taking three generous gulps of vodka before letting out a quiet groan.

"Mother," Ivan asked timidly-was this really the same boy who tossed bullies into the garbage cans at school? "Are you all right?"

Mrs. Braginski said nothing. And then she sighed.

"For awhile, you and Alfred were so close, I suspected…thought…" She drummed her fingers against her forehead before swigging down perhaps a fifth of the bottle. Alfred was impressed. "I do not know what I thought. Am grateful your grandfather is no longer with us, Vanya," she said pointedly, and Alfred's hopeful heart became heavy. "That would have killed his poor old heart if his wife hadn't beat him to it, bless her soul." Sink, sank, sunk. Ivan just gawked at her, befuddled, and now Alfred was shaking, sick with terror. Had to squeeze his eyes shut and will away the hot prickling at them.

"Alfred, you look dead on feet."

"I'm sorry," He shook his head. "No, I'm not sorry, Ivan means the world to me, and I'm so happy I get to be with him, but I get that you're Catholic and don't really swing that way, and I'm sorry if you think I'm endangering Ivan's soul, I don't want to get inbetween you guys for _anything_, honestly, though I don't think I'm really a poisonous influence but I'm real, real sorry if I—"

"Alfred." Mrs. Braginski said shortly, her voice cutting through the American's stammers like a hot blade through butter. "That is enough."

Alfred went dumb. The tears he'd been fighting to keep inside broke free in his voice with a rush of pain. "Please, _please,_ don't be mad at Vanya, Mrs. B," he croaked, and suddenly Ivan's shoulder was pressed against his face. For a moment, his frame shook with silent sobs before he cleared his throat. "He hasn't done anything wrong. Please don't...I'm...I really..."

"_Nyet, nyet_, come here, joy," The woman said gently, and Alfred dared to look up again, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on Ivan's scarf as he did so. Mrs. Braginski was holding her arms out. "I am not angry. Have I not said it before? You are like second son to me."

"You're not mad?" It sounded more like a plea than a query. "Please don't be mad at Ivan, please…"

"Oh, my boy," The woman sighed, comfortingly placing a hand behind Alfred's head and a second later found him tightly embracing her. "As if I could ever object to you. Don't be silly. Am glad to see you at my son's side._ Ya lyublu tebya, padoctb_.

"This is all you wanted to tell me?" Mrs. Braginski asked her son softly, her eyes shining with quiet amusement as Ivan padded to her side, a large and slightly tremulous grin on his face. "Darling, if you are asking me for my permission to marry him, you have my grace, but you will have to talk to Arthur first, and that is a task I do not envy you, Vanya. He will very likely shoot you before you have words out."

_If you only knew._ "Mother," Ivan muttered, his cheeks coloring as red as bricks. "I have been dating him for only few weeks…."

But Mrs. Braginski was already speaking to Alfred again, tone brisk and no-nonsense. "Alfred, I hope you will not be homemaker when you grow up. Not if you bring your brother's cooking into Vanya's house."

Clearing his throat and letting out a slightly-hysteric sounding giggle, Alfred sagged into her arms. "Actually, no. We have some um, bad news, too. I don't know what else to do anymore, and Ivan thought..."

"Stop," The woman said seriously, raising a hand. "Before we get with bad news, I must ask: Does this have anything to do with hornet nest Vanya finds in his room last night?"

_"Hornet's nest?_!" Alfred gasped, ripping himself out of the embrace to stare at Ivan, who would not meet his eyes even when Alfred's fingers twisted into his collar and he _dragged_ him to eye-level. "Vanya, what the _hell_—"

"…da, Mama. I think so."

"In that case, I need something to eat first," the woman said simply, before leaving the room without another word. Alfred immediately turned to Ivan, blinking away spots from his vision and taking a gulp of much-needed air.

"Babe, what did she mean by fucking _hornet nest_?!" Alfred hissed, immediately patting down the startled boy's skin, searching anxiously for injury. "Sonofabitch, sonofabitch, son of a...you weren't stung, you didn't…."

"No one was hurt. But," Ivan added dryly, smile quite evaporated. "As insect nests do not make it a habit to appear in enclosed, inhabited spaces...in the span of twelve hours…"

"Sweetie," Alfred interrupted. And what should have occurred to him just last night hit him with all the force of a tower of bricks.

"Babe..." His voice was a hush, all the wind knocked out of him. The snake. The gun. And now a whole horde of bees in Ivan's home, when one sting was enough to close his throat up and kill him.

"Someone….someone w-wants us _d-dead."_

Ivan didn't respond, but his grip on Alfred's hand doubled, became almost crushing. Alfred closed his eyes and felt the room rotating beneath his feet, so much so that he could no longer tell if he were right-side-up or not. What had Ivan done? What had _they_ done, to deserve this? A few simple, chaste kisses (and some admittedly not so chaste ones), a little playful messing around (and admittedly some not-so playful messing around) and hand-holding had cultivated into an all-out, fucking _war_?

Ivan looked at the place where Alfred's stubborn hair strand once stood, laying his head across it.

"It would seem so. But don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you." He'd already failed in that regard because someone had gotten to close to slaughtering Alfred. _But for an inch_…he pressed trembling lips against Alfred's skin.

"Vanya! Joy! Come and have cake with me before I eat it myself. We have much to discuss."

_A woman of my own heart_, Alfred thought with a rueful smile, before pulling away. "Hell, Ivan, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you either." His smile became considerably more fixed. "Someone broke into your house?"

"We called police and door was not forced. And Mama did not hear anyone come in. But neither she nor Natalya would do such a thing." He gave a weak attempt at an assuring look. "But it is fine now. Don't you see? Everything will be fine. Trust me."

This was hard to believe. If someone went so far as to try shooting them down on the sidewalk…Alfred bit his lip and said nothing, eyes downcast. Ivan gently took hold of his chin and tilted it up, prodding him to look back at him.

"Believe me, Alfred. It is like you say, da? We are together. We will come out of this together."

Alfred opened his mouth, closed it and his eyes. "Well, no duh," he muttered dryly, cupping the Russian's cheek. "If someone wants to take one us down, they get both of us, and if we gotta go down anyhow, we'll do it in style. Can we have cake now? And you're gonna tell me _everything_," he demanded, dragging down Ivan's startled head so that fierce blue eyes were now boring into sleepy purple. "I don't want you to give me the same damn '_damsel-in-distress'-feeble-constitution-can't-hand le-it_' shit Arthur does, remember that I watched as my Dad's mincemeat organs turned into pudding. If anyone comes after you, I'm dragging out my old baseball bat. Vanya, I can stand on my own two feet, cause I'm the hero, here."

"Whatever you say, my dear little _принцесса_."

Alfred affectionately socked him, and it was in good spirits the two wandered off to the kitchen, even if the unavoidable subject matters were certainly no laughing matter. This became all the more apparent as Ivan watched Alfred merrily munching his second slice of creole trifle and his mother bent to whisper in his ear, looking worried. "Ivan, you and Alfred…you have not yet had the sex, have you?"

Ivan turned as red as a poppy. "No, mother!"

Mrs. Braginski smiled in relief. "That is good. Just be aware, my dear," she murmured matter-of-factly, patting her flushing son on the shoulder before rising to fetch some tea. "That what you and Alfred do together is your business, but if I find out that you take boy's chastity before you are properly wed, I will castrate you."

Her son swallowed.

"Da, Mama."

* * *

~*oOo*~

A week at school passed with no incident, though it certainly wasn't a fun one. To say that Mrs. Braginski went ballistic with the news would have done her reaction no justice; she'd called the principal and yelled a lot and then called the school board and shouted a lot and then she'd turned on the boys and _tried_ to scream a lot but by then her voice was hoarse and mostly choked with tears.

She'd wanted to transfer them both immediately, pleaded Alfred to let her call Arthur and convince him to let her pay the private school tuition—something unbearably touching, only Alfred couldn't let her. There was still a dangerous lunatic lurking in the background, the cause of the prickling at the back of Alfred's neck when he walked in and out of school every day. Someone was still checking up on him. Them. The insults and the catcalls might have been eclipsed by the cold shoulder from everyone but Matthew, but by no means did either of them feel safer.

For Alfred, it was getting more and more difficult to pay attention in class, and since his plead to the teacher to have his desk moved away from the window fell on deaf ears, he spent much of his time anxiously glancing out of it, muscles tensing when so much as a bird flew by, ready to duck at any time. As a result, he very often went white, his nerves keeping him white hot with fear, so that class became absolutely exhausting. Arthur would throw a fit if he knew how badly Alfred's performance was slipping, but between listening to a teacher drone on about cell division and keeping an eye out for death, he chose the latter. He became so rigid in class he hardly moved even as he breathed, shallowly, head fogging because it wasn't enough.

Then there was the constant sensation of worry for Ivan nibbling at him all over like an infestation of termites. Whenever a particularly loud noise echoed from the halls or when the intercom began to crackle, his nerves practically short-circuited and his heart nearly stopped. God. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed this uneasy, so-called fucking armistice when his peace of mind had been practically shattered.

There was no safety, not at school, not at home-despite Arthur's repeated insistence of it-even in the brief moments they decided to risk a kiss in the bathroom or the janitor's closet. It was pathetic, so pathetic, and by Friday Alfred felt so completely run-down that Arthur's resumed threats of transferring him to another school were actually starting to sound _appealing_.

This was bad.

At lunch period come Friday, Alfred silently slipped into a stall where Ivan was waiting, a peculiar smile on his face.

"Iv, what about your plan?" He asked quietly, too cheerless to do more than just bump his lips against Ivan's face. "This just isn't working. And we're no closer to finding out who did it then before."

Ivan hugged him tightly. "Do not worry, солнышка. I've been experimenting."

Confused, Alfred looked up at him. "Experimenting?"

"I asked a few friends of mine to help me." He cheerfully coerced three trembling boys from the honors' society into 'altering' their psychology surveys as to see which households in the student body had guns.

He slid his hands over Alfred's hips and stared down his back. But there was one miniscule detail that was impossible and yet could not be dismissed, if he could trust the vast uneasiness in his gut.

Which he wholly did not want to. She had her excuses for being absent lately. Still, if he was going to be thorough in his hunt, he would have to rip up every floorboard to expose the rats. And simply asking nicely would no longer cut it. "There's something I want to try tonight."

His eyes were dead, but his smile widened.

~o*oOo*o~

Hours later at the Braginski residence found Ivan helping Natalya with her homework-something she likely found very confusing indeed, considering she asked him to re-explain it to her over and over again. Though she seemed to be doing more ogling at him than actual listening, something he did his best to ignore.

_Impossible. Absolutely impossible. But I still may have a lead..._

"Natalya," Ivan said shortly, looking up from the textbook. "I'm seeing Alfred again. I thought you should know."

The girl was silent, but Ivan could see it in the way her shoulders squared and her frame trembled that she was on the verge of screams of epic proportions. But to his surprise she only asked, face betraying nothing: "How come?"

He shrugged and turned his face back to his work, which entitled more doodling of sunflowers than much problem solving.

"I don't really think it's his fault, what's been happening. But he did say that he was going to tell the shooting incident to his friends," he added sweetly, nimbly scratching out a flower with a few strokes of his pencil before pausing, eyes and mouth curling. "I really hope he doesn't—it's because we've both kept our mouths shut that we've been left alone recently. With any luck, his gossiping won't trigger anything new from our 'little visitor.'" Ah, how he was smiling now. "If it does, I think I will be done with him for good. I won't even bother speaking to him again."

Natalya said nothing, and when Ivan looked up to assess her countenance, she was gone. Brow furrowing, he slowly got up, heading to the hall where his mother's normally locked chest sat, as unassuming as ever.

Pulling the key from his pocket, he unlocked it and slowly retrieved the hidden gun, handling it as reluctantly as if it would explode in his hands any minute.

He opened the revolving chamber-

And found three bullet spaces completely empty.

~o*oOo*o~

_"Iv? You think you found the culprit?" _

In the darkness, he nodded mutely before remembering Alfred could not see him. "Da. I think so. I have a lead and will be heading out tonight to see for myself if it is true."

_"Well, who is it?"_ Alfred asked breathlessly from his end. "_Who's the murderous son of a bitch? And uh, this isn't great timing but if you give me a sec to think up a decent excuse, I can join you. Tell me where you are."_

Ivan smiled absently, his grip intensifying so much on his phone he felt it quiver warningly in his hand. "I am afraid you cannot come over tonight, Alfred. I need you to stay where you are right now."

There was a pause. "_Vanya,"_ Alfred muttered in a low voice, sounding somewhat petulant, mostly quite concerned. "_Vanya, are you okay?"_

_"Who is that?"_ Ivan heard Arthur ask suspiciously in the background. _"Who are you talking to, Alfred?" _

_"Uh, Mattie,"_ the boy said hastily. _"So, um, Mattie, are you okay? Can't you give me more info than that, bro? Because you're kind of making me crazy right now. How am I s'posed to help you when you won't even throw me a limb, here? And I don't want you doing any crazy stuff by yourself, okay? That's not cool. Do you promise to talk to me before you even think of doing anything remotely nuts?"_

"Yes," Ivan said simply. He was talking. And when he was done talking, he would do as he very well intended.

_"Well, talk to me_," Alfred said, a little desperately. _"Swee—don't leave me out of this. I promised I'd help you, okay? We're in this together."_

_"What are you talking about, Alfred_?" Arthur's voice sounded closer now, and it was definitely suspicious. "_Tell Matthew you'll call back later."_

_"Okay, okay, just gimme a sec, I…Matthew, tell me who—" _

"Stay where are you are," Ivan ordered, his strained voice leaving no room for argument. "I will call you again and keep you posted. Stay where you are, do you understand me?"

_"The hell did you just say?"_ The young man demanded. _"If I get one more jab of me bein' made of porcelain or some shit, I swear I will hunt you down and shove a china doll so far up your—" _

"I love you, too. Goodbye."

And Ivan hung up before skulking into the school, clutching a pipe from underneath his coat.

* * *

Dumbfounded, Alfred lowered his phone and irritably threw it across the sofa, glowering across the room while Hero rolled deliriously about the floor with a catnip mouse.

Son of a bitch, Ivan was fucking doing it _again_. If he wasn't even going to let Alfred help, why even_ tell_ him besides to make him sick with worry? Why did Ivan insist on running around and doing all the cool stuff like look at crooks in police line-ups while Alfred was stuck facing the horror of his brother's food? Maybe he would actually eat it for a change tonight, get food poisoning and die. That'd show Ivan what-for, make him mourn and weep for making him feel useless.

Arthur's concerned voice emanated from the kitchen. "Is everything okay? What were you talking about?"

"Artie, who are you, the thought police?" Alfred grumbled before he remembered that it was _Ivan_ he was mad at, and not Arthur. Well, by a margin of a degree more, anyhow. "Uh, you sure you don't want me to help fix dinner, bro?" He asked hopefully, craning his neck around to check on Arthur's progress and wincing at the results. "I keep tellin' ya, I don't mind if cooking's my job, I really enjoy it, even—"

"Oh, hush," Arthur snapped chidingly, picking up a small green bottle and eying it warily. "This is the first time we've gotten to eat dinner together all week and you look a mess, love. I order you to keep your arse parked where it is."

"Yes, Mommy," Alfred remarked with a roll of his eyes, feeling not ungrateful. He grabbed a nearby comic book, both morose and now slightly cheered. If Ivan had the slightest lead in the right direction and they had prove enough to land the asshole in the slammer….

"Dude, I can't tell you how happy I'm gonna be once its summer break. Not that we're actually doing anything this year, are we?" he added, sounding a little crestfallen. Worried when Arthur didn't say anything, he said quickly: "It's totally fine—I'll just be happy to sleep in late again. But you're not taking summer classes again, are you?"

The man squirmed from where he stood in the kitchen, every now and again picking up that strange bottle before setting it down again.

"Actually, I signed up this morning. It's for the best; if I take twelve or so hours this summer, there's a better chance I can graduate early come next year."

Well, if that didn't make him feel like a member of underachievers anonymous…"Geez," he said incredulously, flopping his unread book into a little tent on his chest. "Arthur, what's the big rush? You haven't had a real break longer than two weeks for years now—what's the difference if you finish like everyone else?"

Arthur managed a small, half-sardonic smile. He really was looking awfully tired these days. "Two weeks off is quite enough for me," he said mildly. "And the sooner I get my degree, the sooner we can move out of this dump."

Alfred squirmed from where he sat on the sofa. Uh, he still fully intended to stay in this 'dump' for just a little while longer—until he graduated high school, thank you very much. Then, he wanted nothing more than to move away, far away for college….admittedly with Ivan, which was both idiotic and something he hoped for more than anything in the world. By the time Arthur was even making an acceptable-salary at the bottom of the pyramid while he continued on with his studies, Alfred would be long gone.

"Here's okay for another year or so," he noted, hoping to steer clear of the school issue for right now. "It'd be kinda cool if you could get credit and maybe go on a trip or something, like one of those study abroad programs."

Arthur looked wistful. "Maybe one day."

"Tell you what," He said decisively. "If you don't plan on cramming all your credit hours in, like, one month or something, I'll send you to England when you graduate. I'm serious!" Alfred insisted when his brother snorted fondly. Geezus, couldn't Arthur cut him a little slack? He even had a small amount saved up already: Only a little over three hundred dollars, but that wasn't bad! "You've only been talking about seeing London since you were tiny….er." The fact that he was taller than Arthur now was not something he let his elder sibling forget.

"Har, har. And that would be nice," The man sighed, misty-eyed, though that might have been because he was trying to cut up an onion. Hopefully he remembered to peel off the skin this time. "However, I wouldn't have much fun without you."

_Take that, Ivan_, he thought smugly. At least someone appreciated his company. Alfred picked up a mewing Hero and nuzzled him to his face, grinning roguishly."Then I'll just have to hide in your suitcase or something. It'd be cool to leave the country once…though I read a travel guide and it says it rains an awful lot in England, which sucks. I'd only wanna stay for a week or so."

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. "Say we liked it so much we decided to move there. How would you feel about that?"

Feeling taken aback, Alfred shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, England would have to be made of candy to compete with the US of A in my book. And even then….well, I don't see it happening. I don't have an English accent or know what I'd do with…" He shuddered. "Well, _European_-sized portions. Ivan says…." He trailed off and fell silent, opening his mouth and then shutting it before picking up his book again, not really reading it at all.

A perfectly pleasant conversation soured by so much as the name of that hateful little pigeon. Arthur pulled out the little bags of organs from inside the chicken he was currently battling with, noting he felt much less squeamish imagining it as Ivan's head rather than actual dead poultry.

His cold eyes fell on Alfred, heart bristling with indignity for his poor little brother.

And then his eyes fell on the green bottle again, where he'd had the….medication poured into an old oil bottle so that it looked perfectly innocent.

Arthur didn't recall moving, but soon enough he was standing over a bubbling pot, silver bubbles sluggishly rising to the surface and collapsing into smaller ones, elapsing into foam and then into nothingness.

It was _wrong_. It was taking advantage. But it was not a roofie, just a _stimulant_. Harmless. He'd tested it on himself—admittedly a very poor idea, had to spend the night on the sofa while he gnawed at his sleeves and imagined torturing Alfred's hot skin with kisses. But there was no shame amongst them, which was healthy. Natural for siblings.

He bit at his lip so hard a red pearl of blood appeared. No. Never. He couldn't do this to Alfred. Better to forget the whole absurd scheme and just toss it away, proceed with the night without it. He could have Alfred in his arms via gentle words and a well-thought out explanation. The young man might be….a little surprised, to say the least, but it would go smoothly.

If Alfred didn't reject him, that was. What might that do to him?

Arthur began chopping up some celery, forgetting to wash it or take the stickers off. The clock was ticking awfully loudly behind him and it was getting on his nerves.

He put the chicken in the oven and the two weary men chatted for awhile, Arthur burning most of the vegetables and staring all the time at the flask that needed to be discarded. At once. Because it was wrong. Because it was cowardly and hateful.

Because it was the help his brother needed in realizing that someone who would love him until his body gave out. Because it was a fling could send Alfred flying amongst the stars, far, far away from where an ugly, fat giant plodded about on Earth, muckeyed.

It was safe. It was cruel. It was….

When he pulled the chicken out of the oven, he prepared two plates. Yes. He would throw that bottle away. He resolved to. He filled two cups of water, contemplated drowning himself in them.

There was a rush of despair in his heart, something accompanied by self-loathing and the hint of resignation you feel when you haven't yet given up the fight but you may as well have; you're already bracing yourself to push off the sill.

He recalled what little he can before Alfred came into his life and he had much more important things to worry about—the days when he and Francis would meet every day and call each other every name they could think of. It was a bit of a game between them, along with scaring the other. Arthur usually won in the latter category, but he recalls when the little douche had started singing a creepy song in order to prove a point; French nursery rhymes were infinitely more frightening than English ones.

He hated the sound of Francis singing, didn't normally cotton to the French language, but he liked the tune enough to remember a few of the words so that he could look them up when he was older. It went something like this:

_Alouette, gentille alouette,  
Alouette, je te plumerai._

_Lark, gentle lark,  
Lark, I will pluck you._

Not exactly a jolly song, but not much better compared to ditties about everyone dying, people breaking their heads, murdering robins and being peeping toms.

_Je te plumerai la tête. Je te plumerai la tête._

_I will pluck your head. I will pluck your head._

Plucking...wings...if Alfred flew away, he'd just have to grab...and pluck...all the wing feathers he could...

_Et la tête! Et la tête!_

_And your head! And your head!_

Oh, but how'd he comfort him. And brothers forgave each other. Alfred would forgive, understanding he was acting for the best. Because his face was carved onto Arthur's heart and he was Alfred's slave, even as he lovingly sealed the boy up in champagne-colored silk.

_Alouette! Alouette!_

_Lark! Lark!_

And he poured the entire contents of the bottle into the frying pan, where Alfred's curry still bubbled.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Natalya left the house. She left her mother some cock-and-bull-excuse that she was going to a friend's house for a slumber party, which thankfully the woman seemed to buy. Ivan claimed that he was going to spend most of the evening at the library, which was troublesome because she had no idea just _who _he was meeting there, did not at all trust his insisting that he would be alone.

In any case, she supposed as she made her way towards the high school, it was a moot point. Soon her beautiful big brother wouldn't have anything to do with Alfred F. Jones, because he would be gone. Expelled from school and then locked away.

Her Mary Janes made a no-nonsense clicking sound against the sidewalk as she briskly approached her destination, checking her watch. Six. On Fridays student council stayed until six-thirty, which meant the doors would be open until that time. That meant she had thirty minutes left to get inside, but because Alfred's new locker was too close to the classroom the council used and she'd need some time to break in without making it obvious, the best solution would probably be to hide out until both the council and the custodians had left for the evening.

The girls' bathrooms and locker rooms wouldn't be a good choice, considering they were both locked, but she had paid off a student here for access to his locker, which he claimed was fine as he never used it. It was a very narrow fit, but Natalya could manage to hide until she was alone. Then…

Inside her shoulder bag, which bounced at her side with every stride, was full of what she had intended to her final solution. She had not dared to tell Arthur anything about it, especially considering it involved using Alfred as the scapegoat, but enough was enough. His silly plans never worked and she was sick of waiting.

Her pale, catlike eyes were shot through with hatred. And if Arthur raised a big stink about her hiding marijuana, hardcore pornography, and a functioning assault weapon she had stolen from a classmate's father in Alfred's locker, she would just have to aim better next time. A shame Ivan had gotten in the way, else, she could have planted a bullet between his teeth. _That_ would have been satisfying.

It was a bit much, and the gun didn't have Alfred's fingerprints, but it was enough to have him dragged off school grounds.

A sadistic smile curled her lips.

And when Ivan was grieving whilst Alfred was in prison, she would comfort him until he fell asleep in her arms. And then she could drug him and drag him away; mother and Katyusha would be distressed when he never came home, but it was what it was. Ivan would be locked away in a warehouse and then she could finally give him her body. Everything. And when Ivan was finally willing to accept her as his bride, they….they could be happy. They could leave this ugly place together and she would never have to share him with anyone else.

She felt the odd urge to sing as she skipped up the steps.

* * *

Hero's fluffy tail swished back and forth as he dug into his cat food. Glancing at him, Alfred felt just a little envious as he took a good whiff of what Arthur was cooking and cringed. Oh, god. There is no bad food like bad Indian food.

"Alfred, come eat!"

Couldn't they just eat out of the garbage and call it a night? As eagerly as a man approaches the gallows, he sat down at the table, forcing a smile as his elder brother cheerfully pushed his plate towards him, glancing bashfully at his intertwined fingers.

"It's, ah, a new recipe, but I hope you still like it."

"Looks great, bro." Alfred reluctantly picked up his fork as his brother sat down, took a sip of water to stall for time. He wasn't aware of how Arthur was watching him, a hint of worry still in those eyes, smile still frozen on his face.

"So, it's been a pretty good week all around?" He asked, very suggestively taking a bite of his own food.

Alfred looked at him. Arthur sighed.

"Alfred, I'm trying to be supportive here," He said sadly, watching as a fork swiveled around the runny curry and the burnt rice. _Eat. Before I rip open your mouth and feed you myself. Eat, my pretty little darling and hand yourself fucking over to me already. _"I'm no good at this, I know. Please don't hold it against me."

The younger man shrugged.

"So, you rented a couple flicks tonight?" He asked dully, taking another drink of water and wondering how best he could make the contents on his plate disappear without actually consuming them. Maybe he could try feeding them to Hero, though it seemed a little unfair to welcome the newest member of their family by giving him Campylobacter.

"Hmm?" Arthur asked stolidly, watching Alfred play with his meal and gritting his teeth, muscles straining to throw himself over the table and force feed him. "Yes, _The Avengers_ and _Masterpiece Theater_."

Alfred scrunched his face up with disgust. "Dude, you thought _Shakespeare _was gonna cheer me up? The hell are you and what have you done with my bro?"

A strange bark of laughter that even had Alfred slightly surprised. Arthur cleared his throat, hoping he passed it off as a cough. "Oh, just give it a chance, you little fool," he said fondly. "If you like, we'll watch your movie first. But stop picking at your food and eat, Alfred. I actually have dessert for us tonight, too."

Alfred speared a bit of meat on his fork—mmm, charred on the outside, raw on the inside, Arthur had special talent—but still didn't eat. Arthur was looking really, really strained right now, as if he were constipated or something.

_"Please_ tell me it's not ice cream," he begged. "It's guilty by association now; I don't think I'm going to be able to eat it for a long, long time, Artie. Like, two whole weeks or something."

"I know, sweetie. It's chocolate. Milk for you and dark for me."

Slightly encouraged, Alfred took a deep breath and took care not to breathe through his nose as he plowed through his food. It was a win-win scenario: He didn't actually have to taste the food so long as he shoveled it down fast enough and Arthur could think he just loved his cooking that much.

Normally the man lectured him on his table manners, but he only saw Arthur droop in his seat, considerably relieved. Feeling bad, he gulped down more water so that the taste wouldn't catch up to him and asked briskly: "So, no homework tonight?"

"No. It's just you and me tonight, bunny." Arthur beamed so brightly Alfred's heart ached a little. Christ, the guy really could stand to take a little more time off…

After dinner was over and the dishes were cleaned, Alfred took a running jump and crashed on the sofa. Arthur was too proper to give the sofa a sneak attack, so he just settled down primly in his seat after he put one of the movies in, making a very big show of it for whatever reason. Alfred lifted an eyebrow and gave his brother a strange look by the time he settled down next to him in the dark room, but didn't question it.

Arthur skipped past all the previews and the main menu to the movie itself, but it became apparent almost immediately that something was wrong. There were no opening credits, and the filming seemed…well, kind of sub-par. Alfred couldn't quite put a finger on it, but he supposed it was the difference between watching a home video and like, an actual video video. Like, the latter was more tinted or something.

The pervading sense of wrongness lingered, especially when what looked to be a male servant—wearing seriously short sorts—was shown scrubbing a stony floor, his behind in the air.

"Uh, Arthur?" Alfred squeaked when a man in an over-the-top, cheesy costume crept up behind the youth and seized him, making him squeak like a girl. "The hell is this?"

Looking innocently dumbfounded, Arthur picked up the empty case and squinted at the description. "The man said it was Marvel's Avengers, some film where a group of supermen or something team up, right?"

Alfred let out a disappointed clucking sound. "Dude, you are seriously behind the times." He went pale when immediately the man in his fluorescent costume started making out with the youth, groans over-the-top and the two practically slobbering over each other. Eww. "This can't be the right film! None of the Avengers are gay!"

"Well, the case SAYS Avengers…what is this, then?"

"Hello, precious," the man with the prancy-prance clothes whispered in the shaking, skinny youth's ear. Alfred would have loved where he had gotten the pimpin' hat. The youth in his arms squirmed for freedom, blushing and stuttering considerably from where he was cornered against the wall. His pathetic whimpering became all the worse when the taller man started bathing his neck with kisses.

"S-sir, please, your wife…she will hear us…you mustn't…."

"Shhh," The taller man murmured, pressing a fingertip on the quivering servant's lips. "She is not at residence, my little lamb. She is supping at her sister's to-day; because of the weather, she will likely stay there through the night." A positively enraptured smile appeared on his greasy face. "And I fully intend to warm myself with your body for these blissful hours."

Arthur gave Alfred a look of great disapproval when the boy fell out of the couch, laughing so hard that it was silent.

"Arthur, this is porn," He wheezed, wiping away tears when the eruption of giggles ceased somewhat. He was actually clutching his side. "They gave you a porno."

"In that case, take it out immediately, Alfred," Arthur snapped, pleased when Alfred hesitated, practically feeling the heat of his natural rebelliousness flaring up in defiance. "You're too young to watch such filth—I'm going to have a good call with those idiots for mixing up the films. You can sue for this sort of nonsense."

How many people did Arthur threaten to sue a month? Alfred was going to have to start charging him a dime every time he did it—they'd both get to England a hell of a lot faster that way.

"U-um, well, it might not be the entire movie…." He grabbed his phone and quickly did a search on the movie title, clicking on Spoiled Kumquats for a summary."Says here that this 'darkly seductive' film's about a young butler and his lord expressing their 'profound and forbidden love' in a number of ways." Looking faintly horrified, Alfred lowered the device, which felt as if it had accumulated its own mottled layer of filth and grime. "Oh, puke. Speaking of which, man, I am not feeling so good."

He hadn't eaten more than usual, but it felt like his stomach had been submerged in…soda, yes, that was a good word—there was an unbelievably fluttery, acidic bubbliness there. While it was not entirely unpleasant, it was different enough to have him notice.

And he felt awfully jumpy, as if he'd consumed half a pot of coffee and was ready to run the Boston Marathon.

"Franz…." The lord pleaded with a sharp, guttural groan. "Don't stop…I want….to devour each and every inch of you…."

Ew. Alfred started laughing again, and Hero poked out from under the sofa curiously as he laughed, feeling the wonderful soreness in his stomach of trying to stop and failing entirely, the warm wave of well-being crashing over him and twirling him about.

"Are you quite finished?" Arthur asked sarcastically, a reluctant smile breaking free as Alfred started roaring with laughter once again. But soon the painful earnestness of the crappy little film started catching up to him, and soon he was watching with a baffled smile. Arthur's eyes were unemotional, though they kept boring into his little brother's back.

Soon enough, Alfred wasn't laughing anymore. It felt like his body was being prickled all over and the room was steadily growing warmer, a strange itching coming from behind his navel. But it wasn't like his _skin_ itched or anything….which was strange, considering you only had itch detectors maybe an inch or so beneath the flesh. It was more like a growing, jolting sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"I feel weird," he complained, wondering at the _gnawing_ ache inside of him, which was making him squirm a little in his seat. Was this like having some kind of parasite? It worried him until he saw Arthur looked just fine. Maybe it was just nerves for Ivan? He _was _worried for him, but more so for whatever unlucky fucker Ivan had hopefully cornered.

"Weird? How so?" Arthur leaned over to press his hand against his forehead and he tensed a little, the touch feeling better than it should have.

"I dunno…." The movie was more endearingly awful than sexy, but he wasn't going to tell his bro that he felt 'jumpy,' else Arthur might think him a pervert.

He immediately picked up his phone and sent Ivan a text message. Though he couldn't see the recipient, Arthur scowled. Reprimanded, he set the device down, face falling.

_Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you tell me where you are so that I can help? Don't you trust me at all?_

Alfred coughed and ran a hand through his hair when the two men started pulling off each others' shirts.

"How are you?" Arthur asked hesitantly. "After this week…how are you _really?"_

"I keep tellin' ya I'm fine, Artie. So stop asking."

Frustrated, Arthur glared at him. "I want to help you, Alfred. Lord…I just want to do…right by you."

Wan twitch at the corner of Alfred's mouth. "We're kinda like Nahnee and Lilo here, huh?" And he shivered, though the room was perfectly warm. His hands were shaking and his toes kept curling, though he wasn't certain why.

And he was _happy_. It sounded bizarre, felt bizarre, but it felt as if an entire month's worth of misery was suddenly being doodled over in pastel paint and the world was suddenly eclipsed into a sea of warm, giddy smiles. _Everything_ was starting to feel nice, the too-warm air, the stickiness at his brow, the frenzied fluttering making him stiffen and sending little shock waves all over his body, demanding…what?

But in the tidal wave of happy joy-joy Alfred was caught in, he wasn't quite melting into it even as it fiercely tried to compromise his mood. If anything, he was now royally confused, because the anxiety over Ivan remained a small seed inside him, never quite going away. It was rather like being a balloon that kept bobbing for freedom but remained tethered to a stone out of caution. If Alfred let go of it, the buoyancy in him seemed so overwhelming he wondered if it might carry him away entirely.

And it was _frightening, _because where did it come from?

"Maybe…you could put on that other movie." He let out a short laugh and stared at his lap, swallowing heavily as the 'lord' grasped the waistband of his moaning servant's pants and pulled them down at a torturous pace. Yuck. "I'd rather be snoring through Shakespeare than this."

"Have you ever watched…one of these before?"

"Um…" Alfred faltered desperately, not sure what to tell his sort-of-parent/guardian. "Ivan and I tried…watching a straight one once." His face burned and he clutched at Hero when he leapt in his lap, feeling both the urge to laugh uproariously once again and hide somewhere. "I pretended it was really hot, and I think Ivan did too…but in the end I just kinda wondered what those people woulda done if their moms knew they were doing it. It was weird."

He clutched at his stomach, the 'happiness' becoming hot and heavy in his ears. His body remained angrier than an overturned hornet's nest, and his mind had a flashback of that one time he and Ivan had gotten into the shower naked together….it had only been fooling around, but now his breathing was escalating and he was feeling dizzy. And his nerves were set at 'all hands on deck' mode.

"Ah, you sure everything's okay, Alfred?" Arthur asked, pausing the horrible film at last and pressing stop. The younger brother shook his head.

"Nothing. It's too hot in here."

"Are you sure that isn't just you?"

He rolled his eyes with a hint of a blush. "Hey, I'm the one who gets to make all the lame-ass jokes. Your job is call me out on 'em like the dork I am."

_So adorable_.

He mentally undressed Alfred, willing the stupid boy to just crawl over and beg for the love he so desperately needed at this point. His own member was getting hard watching the young man unknowingly grind his body against the sofa for more friction, his foot agitatedly shaking back and forth as the boy squirmed, so obviously uncomfortable, an undeniable flush settling over his face, eyes slightly baffled behind his glasses.

Hot and bothered himself, he cleared his throat, keeping himself rooted where he was because it would be _bad_ if he seized him and fucked him now, slowly slid his sweaty shirt over his head and sent the boy sprawling to the ground, wrapping a hot arm around his chest to hoist a gasping Alfred into a kneeling position, hair falling over his face as Arthur slowly sank into him, the tight, warm body enveloping his own as Alfred turned his head for a breathless, openmouthed ki-

Arthur immediately folded his hands over his lap, though as a precaution he pulled the folded blanket sitting nearby over himself.

"Alfred, you look very flushed…do you think you might be coming down with something? I don't think it was the food….I ate it and I feel fine…do you want me to get you an aspirin?

"Nah." He hesitated for a moment. Did food poisoning make you acutely aware of every single microfiber touching your skin and catharsis? "Maybe if I throw up some, I'll feel better."

_"No,"_ Arthur said sharply, so much so Alfred glanced up in surprise. "You are_ not_ tossing up the food I spent all evening cooking, Alfred."

"Right…right….'m sorry…" He bent his head between his knees as Arthur got up to switch the films. "So, what film are we watchin' now? If it's Hamlet, I'm sorry, but I'd rather watch static-"

"It's a scary movie," Arthur said sweetly. "_Romeo & Juliet & The Unborn_."

"Yay!"

"Quite. Alfred, I think I'll have a little shot of rum...would you care to join me?"

~o*oOo*o~


	14. Dasvidanya Darling (Conclusion)

It admittedly wasn't very comfortable hiding in an oversized recycle bin, but he'd take it. Thankfully he noted the janitor wheeling the empty, scratched basin back to its normal place near the third floor stairwell, so he had a convenient place to duck into, albeit with quite a bit of awkwardness. The first few times the stupid thing kept falling over, and Ivan with it. But he calmly clamored in it until he learned how to balance himself—and so he waited.

His phone started beeping at one point, but he turned it off, kneeling uncomfortably in the bin as a few students wandered by, their footsteps echoing in the too-still school. Likely student council. It was too late in the day and week for anyone else to be here still, though he did occasionally hear a jingling down the hall and he peeked the lid open just a hair to see someone waddling down the hall with a ring of keys at their side.

The lights went off shortly after one of his legs fell asleep. He couldn't help but recall two little boys confused and scared after accidentally taking a nap in a model plane….

Not making a sound, he waited in the pitch black-blue of the bin. His pipe was hot from being pressed against his body, and one of his legs felt like it was being stuck with a hundred different needles as it too headed off to sleep. Ivan vaguely wondered how Alfred was doing, if the light of his phone would show up in the bin.

He might have dosed off for some time before he heard a door swing open. Tensing, Ivan froze, fingers drumming against the metal as he peeked out just a little, seeing a dark silhouette pass by. It was too dark to make out too many distinguishing features, but he could tell that it was a small person. A student? A faculty member?

Ivan suddenly wished that he had not tried so hard to get the bin in an upright position. Damn, damn, damn, damn. Getting out would likely mean sending the can falling to the floor again, and with the school being so deserted, it would sound like thunder. Even if he'd cornered the perp responsible, they'd likely freeze up and make a run for it, deny that they had anything to do with it….he wished he'd thought this out a little more.

Somewhere nearby he could something clunk to the floor. A low curse. He could not distinguish the word but he could the voice and in a second he quietly opened the lid, and slowly pushed one side of the can until it started to fall over.

With his hands, he held himself up, hoisted himself out, one leg still balancing the haphazard can. Standing on one foot, replacing his leg with his hands, he silently placed the can back where it belonged, and began to pad down the hallway, not needing to see well to know his destination.

A small glimmer of light soon caught his attention. At the end of the hall he noted a large flashlight perched on its bottom glowing brightly as a young girl battled furiously with locker 3205, Alfred's locker.

The light fell over her beige hair, and Ivan listened as she let loose a stream of swearwords, some in English, some in Russian. After several long minutes she at last lifted the lock free and opened it, not hesitating to stuff a brown paper bag from her own satchel into Alfred's locker. And then she seized a series of magazines, tossing them gracelessly in as well before her hand wandered back to the bag.

Ivan seized the girl's hands, smiling languidly as she started, knocking over her light and sending it wildly rocking across the hall, swigging halfheartedly back and forth as Natalya desperately kicked and tore at him for freedom. But immediately the terrified girl fell still when Ivan hoisted her up effortlessly, ignoring her squabbles as he whispered in her ear:

"_Hello, little sister_."

~o*oOo*o~

This was so awesome. And so terrifying. Arms clenched around Arthur's neck, Alfred stared in shock as Lady Capulet started shooting down snarling, blood-splattered corpses with a machine gun. "Holy—shit! I thought you said this was masterpiece theater, not _monsterpiece_ theater." Ha, he made a funny. His own comment made him start trembling with giggles again, and momentarily forgetting himself he buried his face in Arthur's neck, positively cracking up. Patting his back reassuringly, Arthur rolled his eyes with no real ire as he reached for his glass of amber-colored liquid on the table (with some difficulty), ice chinking,

"Do you want a sip?"

"I think whatever I have, it's catching," Alfred muttered, kicking his legs back and forth from where he sat on Arthur's lap—how exactly had he ended up there? Oh, well. "You're seriously allowing me a taste of booze?"

"If social services doesn't ask, I won't tell," Arthur said simply, lowering the glass invitingly. Alfred awkwardly craned his neck, putting a hand over Arthur's to help guide it.

"Sweet," He said enthusiastically, taking a large gulp and regretting it immediately—this stuff _burned_! "Oh, blecch, this tastes nasty! It makes you feel so _warm_, though!"

"Indeed." Arthur set the glass back on the table and the two went back to watching the film. When a screaming Mercutio was pushed into a pit of undead, starving zombies Alfred yelped and immediately hid his eyes in Arthur's shirt, only absently noting how Arthur was stroking his back. It felt nice.

"Poppet, you're not really watching this," Arthur said with gentle mockery, running a hand through Alfred's hair and feeling the boy shiver with delight. _Go away, go away down there_… "Would you rather go to bed now?"

"Pfff!" Alfred waved his arm carelessly up and down, face still pressed against Arthur's chest. God, what cologne was Arthur even using to smell that good? As far as he knew, they both just used bar soap and no way he smelled that nice…. "I am so watching this movie! And loving it, thank you very much!"

"Then perhaps you should turn around and witness Lady Montague throwing herself to the colony of undead pirates," Arthur suggested calmly, over the screeches and sounds of ripping flesh. Alfred dared a peek, yelped, and immediately turned back to hide.

"I-I'm just restin' my eyes! Ain't nothing wrong with that! And besides, why d'ya have to call me 'poppet' anyway? That's such a_ British_ thing to say!"

"You say that like it's an insult. But I suppose 'bunny' suffices just fine?"

Alfred swatted at him. "Mmmph. Whatever, Robin Good."

His shirt was riding up his back and Arthur swallowed at the tantalizing sight of so much sunkissed skin. It was one of the many reasons he loved the summer evenings when Alfred would go to bed without a shirt. Though again, maybe that was just a unique form of torture. "Ick, Alfred, you're so scared your shirt is a sopping mess," he grumbled, not really caring. The boy could be covered in filth and still Arthur would cling to him. Particularly if that filth was his own. "Either watch the damn movie or take the bloody shirt off."

Calling his bluff, a sulking Alfred sat up, impatiently yanked his t-shirt over his head, and upon seeing a horde of screaming, rotting children have their heads blasted off by a vengeful Paris, immediately hid his face against the crook of Arthur's elbow. "Happy now, you jerk?"

_Marginally, thank you._

After some time Alfred turned his head and stared at the screen, mostly lying on Arthur's lap. It really was a little too warm and sticky, but he was not about to watch this fantastic, magnificent nightmare without….ensuring Arthur wasn't scared out of his gourd. Arthur scared so easily, bless his heart, so Alfred was going to cling to him to make sure he was alright.

He thought about asking for another sip of alcohol, but upon remembering a campsite and two sobbing losers sharing a kiss in the dark, desisted. Alfred wasn't certain why; after all, that kiss (and horrible hangover) led to something that had made him happier than…ever. Even with all the heartache that came with it.

Sobering up just a little, he absently played with the fabric of Arthur's pants, occasionally gripping at the man whenever a particularly scary scene (which was admittedly most the movie; the romance was a subplot, which he appreciated) popped up. Arthur's hand began to run against the bare nape of his back, and soon the other joined in. Alfred closed his eyes, weakly tensing when he recalled Arthur's freakish behavior the night of the shooting.

_Can't you go pet Hero or something_?

But he didn't want Arthur to stop. The strong, calloused hands…he grunted in approval, the small blaze working itself up inside him again flexing and licking his innards pleasantly. Alfred sleepily wriggled against Arthur's hands, appreciating the numbing haze that was slowly wrapping about his thoughts, as insulating and hazy as bubble wrap.

God. This week had been from hell. He was so tired….even if his body kept straining and being an ass. Ha, that was funny because his body was an ass, among other things…a shame he didn't feel like writing these things down.

He scratched his head as a sign that he wanted it to be patted and Arthur obliged. It felt great, but now there wasn't enough skin. The sensuous slides Ivan was giving his body were nice, but—

?

Puzzled, he blinked blearily, trying to note the point of his disconcertion. He'd been….God, why was it hard to string a sentence together? Ivan. Yeah, purple eyes, smiling, warm-hearted doofus….oh, wait, he was mad at the doofus…..for something….something weird, hopefully he'd remember it soon, these hands were not Ivan's, they were smaller and petting his thighs and—

"Uh, Arthur, can you…?"

"Another sip? If you must."

"But I…" He sputtered as more of the sharp-tasting liquid slid down his throat; the glass bumped against his teeth and made them rattle; some of its contents dribbled down his chin. The room was spinning on a strange axle and he had to push away the glass, sputtering. "Aaack! You b-bastard, that's not….I meant."

"Hmm." And in a heartbeat, Arthur had yanked him onto his back. Before Alfred could gather his wits, he'd started tickling him mercilessly and Alfred began cracking up again. "Ahahahahahaha! Dude, not cool, not fair, stoppit, ya bastard!"

Smirking considerably, Arthur just continued his merciless assault. Giggling senselessly, Alfred shoved him back, accidentally tumbling backwards. When his brother tried tugging him back, two just rolled off the sofa altogether, Alfred flopping atop of Arthur's body with a yelp. Arthur groaned and a dazed Alfred sat up, vaguely wondering what had poked his belly on the way down.

"You're smushing me," Arthur muttered into the carpet in a very-smushed voice. Alfred mischievously grinned down at him, strangely feeling as if he'd just won somehow.

"Aah, you like being smushed by me."

There was no response for a second, and then Alfred found both his wrists being clamped by Arthur's hands and a second later found Arthur perched atop him, green eyes glittering victoriously.

"Oh?" He purred, ignoring Alfred's playful and tipsy kicks to try to dislodge him. "Admit you prefer smushing you, and perhaps we can negotiate the terms of your release."

"Nev—" Suddenly Alfred went white; Arthur's knee had just wedged itself in a place it did _not _need to be and suddenly his hypersensitive body kicked into overdrive and he thrashed, blood boiling and stars exploding before his eyes. "Arthur, Arthur, seriously man, get off."

Arthur bent down until the two were nose to nose and Alfred stopped struggling, though he was bewildered and more than ready to start tripping out. "Not until you admit it."

"Admit damn what?" Oh_, God, don't make me say it, please stop touching that, get off, get off_—

"You know," Arthur sang, repositioning his hold and he moved his knee again, nudging Alfred just a little. Jolting, he clapped his hands over his mouth, royally mortified.

"Uh, dude?" he squeaked. "I'll be willing to say whatever it is what you want me to so long as you _get your knee_ off the family jewels."

"Oh." Arthur slowly glanced down himself before looking up at Alfred, biting his lip. "Oh." He crawled off Alfred, standing and stretching. "Al, you enjoy the rest of the movie. I have to go bake my head in the oven now."

"Pffff. Just an accident, buddy." Already bored, Alfred flopped back on the sofa and Arthur settled down next to him again. Romeo and Juliet began making out near a river of bubbling acid and the older Jones' brother snickered.

"Ah, isn't this so much better than any kiss the Avengers could come up with?"

"Shut your whore mouth, Arthur."

He huffed in irritation. "I ought to have you wash your mouth out with soap for that one. I taught you better than that. Girls won't want to kiss you if you speak such." He gestured to the couple slobbering all over each other. "Neither will boys, for that matter."

But suddenly his mouth was at Alfred's ear again. "But I'll always love you, filthy mouth or otherwise, my dear, dear little bunny."

"Ha." Alfred smiled nervously when his brother play-leered at him; okay, well, that was another check on his 'uncomfortable' scale for this evening. While Romeo was busy slinging meaningless goo at his underaged girlfriend, he sagged back against the couch and closed his eyes, his general state of exhaustion and the alcohol in his system leading him to drop off despite the explosions in his ears.

And Arthur gently pulled him back into his lap, and upon seeing Alfred did not stir, slid his hands into the taller boy's pants with a moan of pleasure, slipping beneath the elastic span of his boxers.

~o*oOo*o~

What were you doing?"

Stricken, Natalya stared back at her sibling, who had not yet stopped smiling. "Big brother, is not what it looks like, I didn't….it was just a prank—"

She stared as Ivan wordlessly pulled open Alfred's locker, took a look into the bag of green leaves before dropping it in disgust. He glanced at perhaps one magazine cover, and the smile on his face widened. His sister took another step back, and another, shadows hiding Ivan's eyes.

Chuckling, Ivan advanced towards his little sister in the dark hall. She scrambled back until her back hit the opposite row of lockers, a definite THUD echoing out in the silent school. Natalya's fingers scrabbled at the metal behind her as if she wished to rip the doors open and hide in them.

"Is completely unrelated to what those people did…what he, what he made me do…" Her normally hoarse voice was shrill. "Big brother, I did not want to do it, but he forced me, he forced me, Art—"

"I saw what you did," Ivan interrupted, his voice quiet and contemplative as he slowly approached his cowering little sister. "And I found the gun. You shot at Alfred, Natalya. You tried to kill him."

_"I did not!"_ Natalya exclaimed. "Big brother, how can you believe such ugly lies about your own family? It is that awful boy, isn't it? He is full of lies, lies and deceit and—"

With a roar of fury, Ivan seized her by the hair and sent her charging into a locker with another deafening BANG, his hands positively shaking with fury.

"I swore," Ivan whispered in her ear. "That I would crush the person who was doing this to us. I swore to Alfred that I would pull them to pieces."

His grip tightened brutally in her hair, and Natalya cried out.

"I don't like," he breathed, _"To break my promises."_

~o*oOo*o~

**You can really stop panicking so much, you know**, _the creature said amusedly as Alfred desperately tried to pull himself free of the coils encircling his body, ready to constrict and strangle him at a moment's notice_. **I'm not going to let you go; all I want is for you to feel a little nice**. **And you don't even need to feel guilty about it; just tell your little boytoy that the pillssss I gave you made you worthlessss against my advancessss**.

_It started laughing when Alfred started pounding at it with his fist, tried to spit out the pills it stuffed into his mouth with a humanoid hand—the beast looked very much like a familiar man, with a waist that gave way to one colossal tail instead of legs. It kept laughing when Alfred begged Ivan for help, and it wiped away his tears before bending down to start sucking at his exposed member. _

_It felt **good**._ _The tongue was curling around him and he let out a series of shallow gasps, trapped hands tangling in the monster's hair as it continued to obediently suck, thin tongue flicking to trace the sac, long, thin white hands cupping the base of his pulsing shaft as the head bobbed up and down, swirling around the tip and stroking up, hmming softly as it looked up at him with bright, bright green eyes. Revolted, Alfred tried to pull free but it held him fast, wild whimpers escaping him._

_Horrible. But he could already feel the awful drugs working away at him; he gasped thoughtlessly and his hips automatically thrust up—the creature didn't seem to mind._

_When he did come, he sagged limply in the coils like a dumb doll, dazed as he was tugged closer to a set of stroking hands._

**Very good, Alfred**,_ the creature said brightly, and he received a kiss on the forehead_. **Would you care to know a sssecret? Those pillssss had nothing in them. Nothing**.

_His eyes dilated with horror, and the laughing started up again. _

**It feelsss good when you let me love you, yessss?** _Grinning wickedly, Alfred was suddenly thrust back upon his belly, the coils tightening around him as the hands drifting downwards, his body shaking shaking shaking_ _as horror wailed inside_. **Shall we try again? I so want to see how much your pretty body will take of me**.

**Give me yourself, Alfred, and I swear it won't hurt as much as it can**.

/

What had happened after he fell asleep was a blur of color; sometimes it was the snake touching him and sometimes it was someone else; he felt almost certain that a mouth had gone down on him, though there was no proof of orgasm. All he could tell was that he was desperately thrusting his hips up against something soft and warm.

When some sense returned to him, Alfred found himself on the couch, lying across his brother's lap. The movie was still going on, and he was still rotating his hips, rutting erotically into the warm surf-

Oh, God.

Face flaming, heart nearly stopping, Alfred ceased moving altogether and slowly glanced up, looking into the startled eyes of his brother like he'd noticed nothing, as if he were just as surprised to find Alfred suddenly _humping_ him like a fucking cat in _heat_ as he was-

"Bathroom" Was all he could stammer before he raced off, tripping over his own two feet and taking a fall before immediately leaping up again, sprinting towards the bathroom and shutting the door.

All too soon, Arthur was hammering against the door, calling his name out imploringly but it was hard to hear anything over the nasty sounds of his vomiting.

_His brother. His brother. _He had been…against his brother, he'd just wanted sex and he wanted it then, had been so out of it he hadn't known or cared that he was fucking molesting Arthur-he'd had what had to be some kind of drug dream, considering he'd imagined both a snake AND his brother forcing ORAL on him before zipping him up and...and...he'd-they-had been thrusting their hips, a hand had been touching his bare ass, and-

With a gasp and a rush of acid burning his throat, he kept throwing up until he was dry-heaving, hating himself. God. Knowing Ivan, he'd just laugh, but….

He curled up into a ball and started whacking his face against the floor. He'd been more bemused than anything else when Arthur had had his…accident. It was gross, sure, and had been weird, but this was different, it was...oh, God, what had he said, what had he done, IT WAS SO DISGUSTING AND NOT AT ALL A TURN ON WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WHAT THE FUCK WHY HIM IVAN IVAN IVAN IVAN

Stripping his pants-he was so upset he didn't notice he was unzipped-he headed into the shower, glaring at his hard-on. Fuck. Why did. Why did that even have to be there? The idea of doing it with a snake OR his brother was so repulsive he would be hacking up more if he had more to give!

The erection persisted even under the cold water-why wouldn't it go away? The film wasn't alluring in the slightest, it couldn't have been the food, nothing like this had ever happened to him before and this was scary. Ashamed, he immediately turned up the hot water and imagined Ivan touching his cheek, bending down for a kiss. Pressing their naked bodies up against each other. His cock started stirring again, and he closed his eyes.

"Oh, God," Alfred moaned, "What…what…oh, G—I-Iv..."

Alfred had been in such a hurry that he'd forgotten to lock the door. Slowly, very slowly, the doorknob turned and the door was nudged forward just a crack, a wide green eye hungrily taking in the writhing silhouette from behind the shower curtain.

His member rose back up, and his sweating hands began to shake. Fuck. That was—Alfred keening underneath the hot water after Arthur had sucked him off and let the confused boy start relieving his own body, but how would his body respond to being penetrated—love, love, the most…

Beautiful. Beautiful. His pulse was singing, cock pulsing with his heartbeat and he wanted to seize Alfred by the hair, yank him into a kiss. _Fuck him_ until Alfred couldn't stand, he was screaming and gripping at him for dear life. Whining desperately for Arthur to join their bodies together, as twins—fuck, what bloody right did_ Matthew_ have calling Alfred his twin—as _one._

Alfred was practically presenting himself to him. His body was aching, full of fire, and wasn't Arthur as his elder brother obliged to ease that ache? Eyes lidding and hazing, Arthur's hands drifted towards his belt, which was steadily growing more uncomfortable by the second. Alfred was whimpering wantonly and rocking his hips up and down, bucking into his hands.

Just inches away. He pushed the door open and froze, fingers inches away from the curtain. Horror bled across his eyes, awful and black, though he still saw too clearly Alfred's shadow. And if he just grabbed the curtain there would be everything. His future and Alfred's intertwined forever.

He couldn't do this. It was _wrong_. Alfred would scream and bleed and cry and that image stopped him cold, was almost enough to turn him completely flaccid again. Almost.

_I'm going to make him feel good,_ Arthur protested feebly, eying the angelic figure with its back to him behind the curtain. _I'll take him to paradise._ _We can talk later. _

But his hands calmly unbuckled his belt, face set.

_Oh, no. I'm not finished with you yet._

_Go away and leave him alone,_ worried a stern, paternal corner of his mind. _Can't you see he's upset?_

_Strike while the iron is hot! I want! _

You can't.

_I want! _

Not yet.

**_Well, wasn't that just too fucking bad?_**

_I've run out of time and he'll have me whether he wants to or not._

And he calmly reached forward and swung the curtain aside.

~o*oOo*o~

"Natalya, how could you fathom doing something so cruel?" Ivan exclaimed, rage kindling in his voice to a passionate inferno. "You tormented us both! We were afraid for our _lives_! How could you do such hideous things?"

"I was not alone," muttered Natalya, looking down at her feet. "_He_ also—"

Ivan stamped his boot, cussing bitterly. "I do not care who you manipulated into working beside you with your snake's tongue! Natalya, get this through your head forever: I will, **_never, ever_** marry you, nor **_ever_** love you that way!"

Natalya's smirk abruptly fell away, like autumn leaves before a strong winter wind. "B-brother, just because we are brother and sister does not mean…"

"You think THAT is what stops me?!" Ivan shouted. "**_HAH_**! I would not marry you if we were full siblings or distant strangers! I would not want to marry you if we were the last two people on Earth! And you want to know **why**?" he demanded, his voice rising to a near shriek in his sister's face, "Because Alfred is everything you could never be, all of _the good things in life_! And YOU," he thundered. "You're a greedy, evil, murderous witch, and I won't stay under a roof with you, now or ever again!"

"Big brother," Natalya cried, seizing Ivan's arm only to be thrown aside. The girl's back hit the locker again, and Natalya slowly slid to the ground in a crumpled heap. "Do not push me from your side!"

Ivan just looked at her, and Natalya's throat closed in. It was awhile before he spoke again, the low words slivered. "I can hardly stand to look at you. Rot in hell, Natalya. If you go after Alfred again, make no mistake, _I will snap your neck in two_." He made to go, but Natalya threw himself to his feet, clinging to his ankles.

"If you do not take back your terrible words, something awful will happen and it will be on YOUR hands!" Natalya screamed."You will regret it for the rest of your days, and you will never, ever know happiness, certainly none of the love that you would know from ME!" Tears were streaming down her face. "I love you, I love you more than anyone else, and you tell me that means **nothing** to you? I am thinking YOU are the heartless one!"

"Burn in hell, you evil bitch!" Ivan snarled, not caring how Natalya flinched as though she'd been whipped. He sent her sprawling with a good kick. "I will not stay in a house that is welcome to the likes of you!"

And with a final curse, Ivan strode out of the building, mind a livid wall of flame as he ran off, Natalya's crying a dull and bitter refrain in the night.

~o*oOo*o~

"Aaaaaa!" Alfred let out a piercing scream and it confused Arthur—he staggered backwards and fell against the sink, blinking stupidly as his brother immediately swiped the curtain around him again, clutching it like a blanket.

"Get out, get out, get out! Artie, you fucking weirdo, GET LOST!"

Baffled, Arthur blindly obeyed, unzipped pants flapping and erection still prominent as he blindly stumbled out, head pulsing.

Seizing a small packet of lubricant from his bag, he then proceeded to collapse upon their bed, dragging Alfred's pillow to his face as he started masturbating in earnest.

It had looked at him with those wide blue eyes and it had been ripe for the taking and yet he had not. Why not? There was a reason, he knew, but he'd forgotten it and it could likely wait until later anyhow; he wanted relief.

~o*oOo*o~

Fuming, Alfred gnawed at the inside of his mouth, face burning a bright red. It didn't help matters that the cause of his humiliation was sitting beside him, glaring resolutely away from him, arms crossed.

By the time Alfred had stopped showering, his head had cleared up by a mite, though he'd sat in there for what had to be a good twenty minutes before crawling out. The sickness—or whatever it was—seemed to have lessened the tingling at his fingers and the stirring at his parts, but that didn't make him feel any less disturbed. Not even the fact that Arthur had clean pajamas, a fluffy towel, a head compress and a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him made him feel much better; he'd even skipped out on the chocolate, a fact that had Arthur wondering aloud if Alfred needed a trip to the emergency room.

Tucked into bed (Arthur had tried to do it himself and Alfred nearly strangled him), he wrung the blankets in his hands, wanting not to say a word and yet knowing it was inevitable; this could not be overlooked. It was fucking creepy.

"What the fuck, man?" He asked at last, rolling his eyes and scoffing when Arthur hissed from the edge of the bed. "Why'd you do that?! You could hear the shower running, you sicko, what's wrong with you?!"

"I heard you throwing up," Arthur muttered sullenly, ears as scarlet as cherries. "And then I hear you squealing and whining like your appendix is about to rupture! Al, I'm sorry—" He spat beneath gritted teeth in a way that suggested he was not at all sorry, "But I knocked on the fucking door and asked if I could come in like thirty times; you just kept making noises and I thought you were in some kind of distress!"

"I wasn't until you barged in!" Alfred snapped, ducking his head underneath the quilts. "Staring at me!" _And I wasn't_ squealing!

"Of course I was, you prudish booby, I half-expected you to be lying comatose in the bathtub! Goodness, Alfred, I know it was…" He shivered. "But if you don't think it was like that for me as well, you have another thing coming!"

The young man turned away; Arthur very nearly lost his temper. "Alfred, for God's sake, grow up! I've seen you naked countless times before!" Alfred buried his head underneath his pillow and that made him smile, despite his paramount frustration. "The important thing is, are you quite feeling better or do I have to fucking call the paramedics?"

No tears. No tears. He'd had enough of tears.

"I'm feeling better," he said shortly, voice muffled.

"That's good," Arthur said coolly, resisting the urge to smooth Alfred's hair because the little chick really did sound exhausted. And it _was_ his fault, really. Money was tight right now but if he went without buying lunch at school for a few days, perhaps tomorrow he could purchase one of those graphic novels his darling was always faffing about.

He slowly rose to his feet, pressing a kiss to his hand before touching it to Alfred's back. The younger one suppressed a shudder as Arthur silently headed out, his footsteps fading away.

Alfred bit his lip so hard it hurt. The Arthur-seeing-him-naked part didn't real disturb him so much as the look on his face had. The man hadn't looked concerned so much as he looked downright freaky, almost _feral_.

But that was ridiculous and he knew it. Still, there was the matter of his waking up to humping Arthur's leg….Arthur claimed he hadn't noticed, but how did you not notice that? Why hadn't his bro just punched him awake and rolled him off? It was what Alfred would have done.

_I can't wait to get out of here._

Maybe the town he grew up in would always have a little sway over him, but he was fucking sick of constantly sharing such a small space with someone. Well, maybe that wasn't true—he always liked a bedmate after a scary movie….but Arthur really could be smothering in his attempts to be doting and protective. And creepy. People at school called Ivan creepy but they had no fucking clue.

He blew at his bangs, ruffling them before closing his eyes. He wished he had not laughed so much at Arthur when it had happened to him; this was positively the worst feeling in the world. It was revolting and slimy and so wrong that he wanted to climb to the top floor of their complex and maybe toss himself off.

Blinking, Arthur continued to gaze at him from the door, skin stretched too tightly over the thinning and haggard face.

This had gone. This had gone so much worse than he had anticipated, but it was fine, Alfred was still here. His bloodshot eyes bulged when he considered the younger man storming out of here with a suitcase.

But he was going to stay here whether he liked it or not. And Arthur would _make_ him like it until he was begging underneath him, not wanting to get out of bed _ever, not wanting anyone else to touch him ever_.

Damage control first, however. _I can fix this_. He'd been a little too fast and Alfred was understandably freaked out. That was okay.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Puzzled, he reluctantly drew back from the door and glanced at the screen, heavy brows almost disappearing into his hair when he took a look at the message recipient:

Natalya. What did _she_ want? His thoughts flew to his gun and he wondered if it might not be such a bad idea to settle his anger by settling _her_. His eyes automatically shifted to the small line of text in the glowing green speech bubble, aggravation quickly cooling over to confusion:

_All is lost. _

Why? He narrowed his eyes. What had happened? Was the six-hundredth sixty-sixth demand for marriage the real deal breaker with Ivan and he had at last lost his temper? He viciously hoped so; if he wasn't succeeding this evening, it would be a comfort to see Natalya failing.

_What do you mean by that?_ He typed. _Stop spouting nonsense_.

He waited expectantly for several seconds, but no reply was forthwith coming. He hesitantly tucked his phone away again, turning to watch Alfred's sleeping figure through the crack. If Arthur tried pressing himself on Alfred now, his poor baby would likely start bawling or throw a temper tantrum, completely overwhelmed. Maybe just this once Arthur would step back and leave Alfred to stew for a little before he inevitably got over it. He would sleep on the sofa—and watch should the boy try sneaking out in the middle of the night. A pity locking Alfred in would be pointless, considering there was a lock on the other side of the door, too.

All the more reason he was looking forward to getting a new job and a nicer home with one-way locking mechanisms.

His cell vibrated against his leg and he suppressed a curse, but it was better not to keep Natalya waiting less she do something stupid. As was her wont. He glanced at his cell again and nearly dropped it:

_Someone is going to die soon_.

Arthur stared dumbly at the screen for a second and then he was gone.

The white hot rage he could never direct at himself—_or_ at the bunny nestled cozily in the next room, the most precious thing in the world—became his living reality. _Well._

Unless she had a very, very good explanation he was going to wrap his hands in her hair and whack her like a dusty rug against the wall. Until she was screaming for mercy and he was laughing, singing even as he dug into her stomach and dragged out her intestine and _choked_ her with them.

_What the deuce are you talking about? _He typed calmly, a watery smile appearing on a white face. _If you come here, make no mistake, I will KILL YOU_.

No response. He waited patiently. Perhaps a ploy to draw him out? But there was no way Natalya was getting in by any means but the front door, so all he had to do was hunt her down first.

And it would be good, better than good, and he would laugh and she would cry and everything would be better somehow. Well, perhaps it wouldn't—he wasn't that juvenile—but he would definitely feel better, and a good attitude was what he needed if he wanted Alfred.

He stifled a desperate choking sound, and he bustled off to the living room to bury his head in a pillow and muffle the sound. It took him a moment to realize that he was laughing. Hard.

The irony. He had Alfred already, but that wasn't _enough, it wasn't all of him, Ivan had been privy to that small percentage Alfred would not give and Arthur would take it back_. Sometimes he wished Alfred was born his son…but he had all the powers of parental custody at his disposal. He had some time yet.

When he stopped shaking somewhat, he paused by the mirror and worked his face into composure before knocking cautiously on the bedroom door. He poked his head in, his surprised brother lifting his head just a little."Alfred. Bunny, I have to go. Emergency."

"Emergency?" Alfred asked feebly, the anger in his eyes reluctantly phasing to bafflement. "Arthur, what's wrong? Is everything…"

He smiled just a little, face still taut.

"A friend of mine," he said, and Arthur looked down at himself curiously from the ceiling, listening to himself speak and maybe almost feeling his jaw moving. "Just called and they're in a spot of trouble. Please, Al, just stay here for now." Still drifting, Arthur bent the dummy's head down in a suitable, contrite fashion. "I'm sorry our evening together was spoiled. Maybe tomorrow we can head to the bookstore or the arboretum, hmm? I think the weather's supposed to be nice, so maybe we can go on a hike or something."

Alfred was staring at him with a strange look on his face. He looked torn. "Um, okay…is everything gonna be alright?"

"Oh, yes!" Arthur heard, in a voice that seemed very high. "I'll call later on, poppet. Likely won't be back until later this morning, but I think I can straighten this out right quick. Get some rest, and remember that there's medicine in the bathroom cabinet if you need it." He mechanically pulled up both sides of his mouth and for whatever dismaying reason, Alfred was looking seriously put-out. Almost nervous.

But he'd be back soon and if good bunnies did what they were told and stayed in the burrow, everything would be fine and it needn't mind the storm outside. "Sure. Uh, see you later?" It came out a timid question and he laughed again because it was _so funny_. Of course he would!

"Goodnight," he said simply, and left, knowing it was pointless but locking the door anyway. He half-considered making a decent barricade against the door but that would have seemed just too strange. Whistling, he retrieved his gun from the hollowed medical text book on the shelf—whilst Alfred liked science, he would never pick up a manuscript that looked so boring as this.

Natalya would be _snuffed out_, and if Ivan was still a threat he'd murder him too. Then there was only the question of Matthew getting in the way and stealing his prize but maybe he could take Alfred's advice and leave this godforsaken town, this stupid country altogether. He'd show Alfred what adventure and culture really tasted like, just so long as it didn't involve any wandering eyes on his bunny.

His feet slapped down the stairs and he smiled the livelong way. A fresh beginning, where no one knew them. It was certainly something to consider after he ripped Natalya's throat out.

~o*oOo*o~

Alfred lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Well. He'd just been on the verge of falling asleep again and now he was contemplating piling up furniture against the door. The heck had been Arthur's deal, stumbling into the bathroom while he was in the shower? He'd looked…like a lost little boy, mildly horrified and more than a little blank. It was creepy and while he'd undoubtedly come in out of concern, it was….

Unsettling. That was a good word. He ducked his head underneath the blankets, biting his lip. Arthur looked awfully cheerful considering his friend was in trouble—in what sort of trouble? It really wasn't like the man to lie to him, but what was with the creepo, Norman Bates grin? Maybe he was so embarrassed by the incident he just wanted to get out for a little while. He wondered if the two would ever laugh over the incident someday. It seemed most unlikely.

He turned over in the bed that smelled like Arthur, curling up into a small ball. Siblings likely talked about sex if the age range was right—especially if they were the same gender. That didn't seem too abnormal. But the idea of parent and child discussing sex seemed so utterly mortifying he shied away from the idea. Imagining talking to Arthur or Mrs. Braginski about….about that made him consider smacking his head against the wall over and over again. Just. No. Just no, no, no, no.

What _was_ Arthur to him? A sibling who had taken upon a very patronizing and paternal role. It was too hard to see themselves as equals when Arthur had always strived to be the protector and who cheated at card games so that he would lose to him.

It was uncomfortable admitting this, but even though he loved Arthur—practically worshipped the fussbudget when he was a child—lately it was just…suffocating around him. Like the very air around him was stifling, and kind though he was, he was…way too touchy-feely. Ivan could touch him like that, as much as he wanted to unless Alfred said no. Arthur could not. He'd probably die from humiliation telling him so, but he resolved to tell him the very next morning.

He was still feeling a little woozy, still a little out-of-sorts, but he was sick of thinking and headed off to the living room to get his cell phone. He ought to check up on Ivan and see that he was okay.

Alfred dug it from the cushions and tried to call; no answer. Concerned, he tried again—still no answer. A text, asking him how everything was.

He started playing Angry Birds on his cell, checking every few minutes for a response. When there was none after twenty minutes, however, the nerves he was suppressing started rising in him like bubbles in a shaken can of cola.

_ivan, is everything okay? Did u find our perp?_ _I'm calling your mom in a second. I really wanna see you, babe. What happened? _

No answer after five minutes. He took a deep breath and tried again.

_Ivan, you're safe, right? _

No answer. God. His breathing started to become terse and shallow, and he tried calling again. He really, really respected if Ivan wanted some space from him, but if the fucking headcase had tried shooting at him, what would he do to….

Christ. He was the worst. Boyfriend. Alive. Swearing, he started to dial the number for the Braginski household, praying Natalya wouldn't pick up. Oh god. What if he'd never come home? What if someone had beaten even Ivan senseless? What if he'd been waiting and waiting for the man who said he'd be there for him and was lying in the streets, beaten and bruised and with a bloody mouth and—

"Pick up," Alfred growled, immediately leaping to his feet and pacing the floor. "Pick up, pick up, pick up!"

The number jumped to voicemail. He all but screamed in anger, and Hero fled the room. Trying to get some hold of himself, he bit back tears, wondering if it would be too much to call the police.

He would try one more time with Ivan's cell.

When it went to the clinical, cool voice of the automatic voicemail list, he nearly lost it. Upon hearing the familiar beep, the words spilled out of him.

"Ivan, Ivan, I am two seconds away from running outside and tracking you down, I swear to God. Vanya, I want to see you, I'll help you with whatever you need to do, I get if you're pissed at me for not insisting on being with you just let me know you're not dead, please, Vanya, I need to see you now—"

And he did start crying, his screen fogging up as a hot tear splashed. "Arthur's not even here right now and we had a crazy evening I want to tell you about it was fucking weird and scary and I want to help you, let me help you, I'll call the cops and do whatever—"

His phone pinged and he about dropped it. Scrambling to get the message, he cut off and read it, deflating like a squashed moonbounce with relief.

_Alfred I am here come outside_

He rushed over to the porch and headed out—and to his surprise he saw the familiar flash of red paint. Matthew's car. Huh. So maybe he recruited Matthew and they were gonna whack someone with a hockey stick?

He didn't particularly feel like killing anyone at the moment—Ivan aside, once he kissed him half to death like the sap he was. Smiling in relief, he grabbed a notecard and scribbled a message. There would be hell to pay come tomorrow, but he would find some excuse.

_Got lonely and went to Mattie's. Don't worry; he's driving me there himself, so keep your head on. Hope everything's okay. Love, Al_.

Elated, he tore down the stairs.

Matthew insisted on taking him back to his deserted place (his parents were in Maui for their twentieth wedding anniversary) and making him hot chocolate before he'd even let him hear the news. Despite his pleas and his threats, neither Ivan nor his twin would say a word, though judging by just how grave and anxious Matthew looked, Alfred wondered if it had anything to do with the stalker at all. Maybe someone had died.

Ivan had just clutched him like he'd never get to again, whey-faced. Thankfully, it was less than a ten minute trip and Alfred got the entire story.

Almost all of it, anyway. Matthew excused himself, saying that he had a sleepover at a friend's house, though he highly doubted that was the case.

Staring at the electric fire blazing in the hearth, he hugged his knees, feeling sicker than ever.

"I don't understand…" Alfred said weakly. "What did I do, Vanya? What did either of us do to make…" Garbled snarl or a hopeless snort. "She could have killed us both. Hell, she was probably tryin' to!"

"I am sorry," Ivan whispered, face in his hands. "So sorry."

Alfred sighed and pressed his nose against Ivan's, who did not move. A second later he felt the alarming way Ivan was shaking and realized that the man was near tears. "Hey, hey….it's fine…at least we know now, it's not your fault….we're gonna be just fine…."

"All this time, under my nose…you hate me." Ivan croaked, hands dropping as Alfred squeezed his arm, bluish eyes filled with misery. "You SHOULD hate me. I hate myself. I am stupid, because I knew what she was like and she had so many excuses—I w-wanted to believe! I make so many threats to eliminate what's been hurting you and it comes from my own house! Stupid, fucking, awful, hateful piece of _shit_—"

Alfred had heard enough. "Ivan," he said sharply, cutting the despairing boy off in his tracks and making him most unwillingly look at him. "I love you."

The Russian froze.

"What?"

Alfred smiled at him, looking exhausted but incredibly at peace, his blue eyes shining.

"I love you," he repeated, smiling when Ivan pulled him into his lap and kissed him, once, twice, and then it was probably more than that but maybe the second kiss just didn't stop.

Of course he was horrified. And afraid. But he knew now and the words were out and for some reason it was so purifying that he felt cleaner than he had in weeks. It was terrible, knowing that someone was so jealous of him that they wanted him dead, but breaking away from Ivan's lips to press kisses all over his big, adorable nose—

Panting, Ivan impatiently grabbed Alfred's face and crushed his lips against his again and he sagged into the kiss, lips moving against each other, imperfect but all the more enjoyable for the little flaws, like how he accidentally caught his lower lip on one of Ivan's teeth or strange it still felt to actually feel another person's tongue tracing it, peppering with hot, apologetic little kisses.

But it was breath and skin and it was Ivan and it all made his head swim so delightfully. When they did break apart, he could have laughed at how dumb Ivan looked, his face flushed and his lips swollen and his eyes lidded and stupid-happy. He let out a garbled laugh and hoped he felt the same, pressing his forehead against the Russian's and smiling.

Oh, the clichés, the clichés, the godawful stupid clichés. But his heart was breaking with love.

"Say it in Russian," Ivan said hopefully. Alfred grinned and pecked him on the head with a small chuckle. "Shaddup."

"Like you have heard me say." The Russian's smile began to fade just a little. "Ah, but I guess I am not so much in a place that I can ask for favors…."

"_Ya lyublu tebya_," Alfred muttered, kissing one of Ivan's eyes before moving onto the other. It had been years since he'd seen Ivan really cry, and as far as he could control it, he would keep it that way. "I love you, you big schmo. Uh, as for…Natalya…" Oh, boy. He could feel Ivan tensing underneath him. "Well, uh, we gotta talk about that. In detail. Just…not now."

Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he suppressed an evil laugh. Oh, Mattie knew him only too well. He really needed to think of a proper thank you after this.

"You know—ah—we're alone," he noted cheerfully, wrapping his arms around Ivan's shoulders and smiling in his neck.

Ivan gazed at him uncomprehendingly, and then Alfred saw what wasn't covered by his scarf immediately turn bright pink. The whites of his eyes looked like dinner plates and Alfred kind of wanted to laugh.

"Are you sure about this?" He stammered, fidgeting. "I—I….I d-don't…"

"Gotta warn ya, buddy—chances are, we'll look back and_ laugh_," Alfred said resignedly, kissing Ivan on the cheek for no other reason than the simple fact he looked very kissable at the moment. "Or maybe get paper bags and hide forever and a day, cause I don't think I have a clue what I'm doing, but—"

Ivan was staring at him like he'd just lost his mind but an arm was curling around his waist and a hand was touching his cheek and that was kind of definitely awesome.

"Ivan, I love you. I want you." He hadn't told Ivan yet about his weird ass night with Arthur, but that could only be too easily put to the wayside for now. "Gotta thank Mattie for this, cause, uh, we seem to be alone. Looks like we're gonna be alone for some time. In fact, I'd go ahead and say—"

Awestruck, Ivan silently cupped both sides of Alfred's face and leaned in, silently savoring the way the blond's hot breath intermingled with his before their lips tentatively touched, and for a moment he was an awkward, shy little boy again. But Alfred's smiling mouth pressed against his again, and soon memories were a faint, superfluous buzz as he greedily tasted the lips moving against his, all thoughts not pertaining to how good it felt to have Alfred's lips parting for him or how beautifully Alfred's eyes were shining up at him evaporating like smoke on the wind.

One kiss. And then another. Another. His hands splayed Alfred's face, caressed it, felt Alfred's hands sifting through his hair, his hot tongue playfully caressing Ivan's bottom lip. The Russian growled softly, and all of a sudden, his blood boiled, the air above them both becoming shot.

Somehow, Alfred's legs were twisted around his waist, and his arms were around his shoulders, and it was all Ivan could do to not throw him against the sofa and ravage his mouth for dear life, his tongue lapping like a starving kitten's at every little inch Alfred would surrender.

He'd thought—or at least in the brief, occasionally lucid thoughts he could think at that point—that undressing Alfred would be a slow, chary act, like undressing a child and helping them into their night things before bed. Not so. His hands tore into the t-shirt Alfred was wearing, and all but ripped it over his head, Alfred hurriedly raising his arms to help. The shirt had not yet fallen to the floor before Ivan's hands were roaming over the newfound skin, and Alfred's moans filled the air as fingers frantically started to explore new territory.

Oh, God. Alfred's head spun as he smashed his lips against Ivan's, burying his hands into the strands and shivering as Ivan's tongue

Every nerve was tingling like a live wire, in a way that was pleasant and addictive and full of Ivan swimming in his face, which made it perfect.

_More. More. I want more. _

"Alfred," Ivan asked nervously when the two broke apart again. "Are you sure?"

"No, don't—enngh—stop," Alfred murmured, spine arching when he felt Ivan's hand hesitantly close over his member. "Don't look so scared, Vanya. I'm made of tough stuff."

"Aaah!"

A few moments later found the two stumbling into Mr. and Mrs. Bonnefoy's bedroom, Ivan locating a goody drawer next to the bed and taking out a bottle of lube with a shaking hand. They retreated back to the living room because it just seemed tacky to do it on the bed, though the comfy shag carpeting was as far as they got.

It wasn't admittedly the most beautiful and perfect thing in the world, the first intrusion. Alfred squirmed and Ivan with him, muttering apologies every few seconds before slipping another finger in. Suddenly, Alfred seized up, mouth dropping in shock.

"A-aah!"

He hastily retreated. "Did I hurt you?"

"Oh, oh _God_, what—do, do that again," Alfred moaned imploringly, and the fingers inside of him shot forward again, feeling around. A second later, Alfred nearly doubled up and Ivan pressed his forehead against Alfred's.

"I love you." The words came spiraling out and he slowly pulled out of him, something Alfred accentuated with a whine. Smirking, he pulled Alfred into an embrace. "I want—I want to do so much for you."

He felt Alfred beam against his shoulder, kiss it and look up into his eyes. "Yeah. I love you too, big guy. But you don't have to do much of anything." A dancing, electric spark appeared in his normally innocent eyes and Ivan felt a hot rush of energy rip through him. Alfred leaned back and considered his boyfriend, smirking in such a way that had Ivan swallowing.

"Now, would you mind makin' love to me?" he drawled.

Ivan swallowed and clumsily nodded, kissing Alfred as the boy lay back down, Ivan hoisting his legs up on his shoulders and carefully moisturizing his cock before driving a third of the way in, their hot gasps painting the air.

Sweat streaming down his face, Ivan glanced down at Alfred with lidded eyes, the boy's face contorted in such a way it almost made him want to laugh. "Nnngh."

"A-am I-"

"No," Alfred choked out, eyes flying open as he gave the worried boy a reassuring look, his gleaming face torn between pleasure and pain. "No, God, Ivan, if you stop now-"

Groaning, Ivan sank, inch by inch into the warm body, hot gasps filling the room until he was buried to the hilt. The tanned fingers left imprints on his arm as Alfred thrashed underneath him, struggling to get acquainted to the size and the odd stretch.

"Please," he begged between grit teeth after several seconds, and it was kind of funny how much he was shaking. Stupid, really. "Vanya, please, move—"

And he obliged. Gladly.

Breathlessly, Alfred clung on for dear life, babbling senselessly as the taller's thrusts became increasingly eratic, Ivan's groans filtering the hot air. Or maybe those were his own. He panted, gazing up with lidded eyes as Ivan continued to buck into him, brushing against that special spot that made him twitch and writhe, _too much, too much but too good_ and he wanted _more_.

Alfred let out a cry when a cool hand wrapped around his aching cock and began to work in time to their thrusts, stroking, pulling, rubbing, teasing and worrying the head, hardening under the touch—

Ivan was kissing him and he leaned his head back, tongues happily twirling about the other—

Violet orbs loomed in and out of the darkness over him, occasionally disappearing when Ivan sank especially deep and the Russian's voice hitched, gentle words steadily climbing into something incomprehensible, an inane babbling broken with gasps, with snatches of senseless English and Russian.

He was close. Alfred lifted his hips nearly clean off the floor to meet Ivan's flesh, and Ivan eagerly pressed down, hitting that all-too sensitive basket of nerves dead on, over and over again before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in—

"I-IVAN!" Alfred shrieked, his eyes wild, _"IVAN!"_

His mouth still moving desperately against the other's, Alfred threw his head back, mouth open in a silent scream as the world abruptly turned to white before his eyes, the painful descend rapid, exhilarating, almost terrifying but so hot so warm as somewhere above him, Ivan let out a choking gasp and released, hot essence spilling and his hand flying to Alfred's as the two fell together, Ivan rocking into his body until he was spent.

Alfred's quivering legs tumbled aside from Ivan's sagging shoulders, and the Russian pulled out of Alfred's body, felt himself being pulled into a pair of hot arms, glistening with sweat in the dying firelight. Still gasping, Ivan silently looked at the precious body, and felt the wonderful, terrible feeling of his heart almost breaking.

While the room was still filled with some light, he leaned in for a kiss, breath ghosting over Alfred's cheek before he pressed against his lips, pulling Alfred's hand to his chest, willing the boy to feel some of the tenderness eating away at Ivan, thrumming with every hot rush of blood.

Somewhere below him, he could hear Alfred beaming when the embers finally went out, collapsing from golden jewels to silver ashes.

~o*oOo*o~

~*oOo*~

Dazed, still enveloped in a post-coital glow, the two did stumble out eventually, however reluctantly. Alfred was limping slightly and Ivan felt awful, but the boy simply told him to suck it up, in too good of a mood to mind very much.

The mood was different, however, when Ivan directed the two of them into a car and Alfred realized where they were going and what they had to do. Oh. Oh.

"Ivan, the cops are gonna…they're gonna put her away, huh?"

"Alfred." Ivan said quietly, his emotionless eyes fixed on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the drive. "She nearly killed you."

Biting his lip, Alfred silently squirmed in the passenger seat, not knowing where to look. "Yeah," he said softly, scuffing one shoe with the toe of his other. "That's….that's kind of….bad." He swore and closed his eyes, sinking into the oversized sweatshirt Ivan had slid onto him. "I don't wanna turn her in to the police cause she's your sister, but…"

"She confessed." The Russian murmured, drawing a hand through Alfred's yellow hair, his eyes unhappy. "You ought to call the authorities and have them deal with her...she cannot get away with something like this. She's dangerous, and now she knows we are still together." His hand snaked over Alfred's, and the boy planted his other hand above it, sandwiching and keeping it there. "I can't trust that she won't do something truly awful again, especially now that we know everything. Nothing is more dangerous than criminal who has nothing left to lose, da? I tell Mama first only so that she is prepared when police take Natalya away."

"Iv, you and I both know that's not what you want." Alfred said gently, clasping Ivan's hand and leaning forward. Now it was Ivan whose eyes wandered away from him, but Alfred prodded until at last they reluctantly returned. "I can…kind of….sort of understand why she did it." He rolled his eyes as Ivan gave him a look that all too clearly questioned Alfred's sanity. "Look, I can't imagine loving your big brother or sister like that, but hell, to go through all that trouble to get rid of someone the person you care about loves...of course Natalya didn't think she was doing anything wrong."

"Does that make it right?" Ivan asked. "It does not matter whether she did or did not know. I know Natalya, Alfred, and in either case, she simply did not care. You were an obstacle to something she wanted, and her actions should speak loud enough for us to understand that there is nothing she will not do if it means getting her way."

Alfred turned away to sadly contemplate his own hands. Ivan considered him thoughtfully. "If...if ah, you and I...had been born...born together—" He flushed. Alfred quickly looked away, flushed face mirroring Ivan's own degradation, own disgust. "Do...do you think..."

"No," Alfred said gently, his eyes kind. "Hell, I dunno what sort of person I'd be. But even if I'd been in Natalya's position…been your bro and loved you like….like that….." As mortifying as this was, Ivan couldn't help but admire at just how sweet Alfred was when he blushed. "Ugh, Iv, I love you, but if we'd been born _siblings_—"

"Let's not discuss that. I am sorry I brought it up."

His lover shook his head.

"I couldn't hurt someone you really cared about, Ivan. Never," he emphasized firmly, tugging Ivan's hand to his heart, where the Russian could feel it fluttering warmly. "If at any time…you…you left—"

He leaned in, violet eyes boring into Alfred's until he could make out nothing else. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

Alfred gave him the sweetest of smiles, his cheeks rosy. "But," he added insistently. "If at any time you left me for someone else, of course I'd be crushed, be jealous as all hell of whoever you decided to see. But I wouldn't try to _wax_ them. That'd hurt you, and that would just make me sick. Uh, and murder's just a little...not nice. Maybe even a federal no-no."

"All the more reason Natalya should be punished. Why I must not stay anymore in this house."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go in with you?" Alfred asked anxiously as they parked outside Ivan's home.

Ivan nodded, brushing his nose against Alfred's collarbone. "I do not want you within five miles of my little sister. Am only going back to tell my mother what Natalya has done, and then I am packing my bags and I will leave. Matthew says I might stay with him until I figure out what to do."

"Yer Ma's gonna have a field day about that," The blond muttered as Ivan opened the door. Before he could climb out, Alfred grabbed his arm, pulled him back. "Natalya's just a kid, albeit a dangerous, total headcase of one. Maybe you don't have to leave at all—maybe your Mom will send her to live with Katyusha, or someplace where she can get help. Get better," he said hopefully. "There's still time for her, Ivan."

Ivan just gave him a furtive look, did something between a shrug and a shake of the head. His eyes seemed almost pitying, a fact that annoyed Alfred.

"Are you SURE you don't want me to—"

"Da," Ivan breathed, pressing his lips against the place where Alfred's stubborn strand used to sit on his head and draping an arm around Alfred's shoulders, giving him an affectionate squeeze. "Stay in car. Stay warm." He patted his love's knee before drawing back from the hug. "If I need you, I will text you."

"Ivan..."

He looked at him. "Please."

Alfred let out a long, resigned sigh, shoulders slumping in a way that might have been comical if not for the present circumstances. "I realize that this might take awhile, but if I don't hear from you in ten, I'm going in after you."

Ivan cautiously entered the house, as tentative as if he were a burglar entering a stranger's abode. He expected the smell of cooking vegetables or meat to be wandering in from the kitchen by now-after all, it was almost dinnertime-but nothing. Nonetheless, Ivan poked his head in, only to find it deserted.

"Mama?" he asked aloud, wandering to the living room. But she was not there either. Confused, Ivan headed up the steps. He hoped he didn't have to deal with Natalya again, felt his blood searing at the very thought. Hopefully she'd already fled by now.

But the woman was not in her room, and the bathroom door was ajar. He checked his own room. Nothing. Her car had still been in the driveway, so more likely than not she was still here...

He turned most unwillingly to Natalya's door, which had light coming from underneath the crack. Perhaps she had wanted to talk to the woman, shed crocodile tears and convince the woman that another series of events had occurred altogether. Ivan's teeth clenched.

Natalya would have her so-called 'justice.' Without bothering to knock, he swung open the door, surprised; he'd half-expected that he'd have to break the lock.

"Ma—"

But his words abruptly died; Mrs. Braginski lay on the floor in a dead faint near Natalya's closet. In a flash her son had raced to her side, knelt, shook the woman with strays of gray in her still lovely, proud crown of hair, who did not move, did not stir.

He looked into the open closet door, where his mother had been facing.

And what he saw tugged him to the floor, anchoring him to it even as a part of him died and drifted away. He heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, heard Alfred concernedly calling out his name from a distance. But it registered nothing to him.

_Creak, creak._

_Creak, creak._

Her body rotated eerily back and forth, back and forth from where it hung in the air. Natalya Braginski had hung herself in the closet, dead, cold eyes swiveled to stare emptily at her sibling, devoid of the passion that normally directed at Ivan and Ivan alone.

She was clad in her mother's wedding dress.

Ivan did not let out one cry, not one sob; there was no breath left to do so. He felt himself submerged in the same waters that had overtaken his mother; the ghost of his little sister's promise frozen on her face as a cry echoed through the room, filtering into the rest of the house.

~o*oOo*o~

**The definition of irony: Your aphrodisiac works in favor of the guy you hate.**

**...oh, yeah. *Sighs sadly* There you go, all—Natalya Braginski is dead, but the story still isn't over just yet. **

**Yes, Ivan's a bit of a Mama's boy. *Shrugs* I'm not denying it-he definitely admires her, considering the crap she's lived (and is about) to live through. :( Mrs. B is essentially okay with homosexuals, but she's still very adamant that you at least be married before you have sex. The whole 'preserving one's honor' and stuff (though she could probably tell you about a VERY interesting vacation she had in Italy with a young man some years ago). I'm not sure she's kidding about the whole castration part. *Shivers* Hope she doesn't find out about Ivan and Al's happy fun time! But even if she does, I'm thinking she's just joking. She has a very big heart and open mind. **

**Next chapter: My Brother's Keeper.**

**Or: The Truth.**


End file.
